magic monday

• woke up at 9
• snuggled in bed with the Mew cat for a whole hour
• made my coffee super strong this morning
• MY CAMERA BATTERY CHARGER CAME IN THE MAIL
• which totally made up for work being meh all night
• (I need a new job)
• watching old episodes of king of the hill & the simpsons makes up for it
• so does chasing the cats around with my big camera
• happy monday 

my first father-less father's day

Padre,

Navigating this world without you is still hard for me sometimes. Each day has its own set of challenges, and there are still more times than not when I wish I could just pick up the phone to hear you say "Hello" back to me on the other end.

It's my first Father's Day without you. My heart feels so heavy with grief and I don't know where to put it down. All of the Father's Day tributes on Facebook and Instagram today are making me teary-eyed and a little bit jealous because all I want more than anything in this world is more time with you.

I'm learning how to sit with my emotions. I'm learning how to mange my grief and all the ups and downs every single day. I'm trying to rely on all of our good memories to buoy me through the day.

Like the Father's Day we went to Jellystone with the Dixon's and they had a dress up contest where all the dad's had to dress in drag and put lipstick on. Whoever did it the fastest won. There is no photographic evidence of this (sadly), but the memory always instantly makes me smile.

Or when you lived in Zion after you and mom split up and we used to go to late night movies on Friday nights. Then on Saturday we'd do laundry and either go bowling at the bowling alley up the street from the laundromat, or if it was nice out, you'd make me pack my swimsuit so we could go to the water park with the water slide that I refused to go on because I was paralyzed by fear.

Laundromats always remind me of you, Dad. The one in Zion I remember because it had the pinball machine. You were constantly digging around for quarters so I could keep myself occupied. After you moved back to Wisconsin, you used to take me to the one on 36 in Waterford. I always ran to you with the other edge of the your giant comforter, excited more than anything that you just needed me to help you.

I miss you, Dad. Every single day. The ache in my heart never truly goes away. Happy Father's Day.

tomorrow is father's day.

This post could alternately be titled, "Real Life: I took 2 Vacation Days so I didn't have to work on the first Father's Day without my dad."

I'm trying to be gentle with myself, y'know? Today is ten months since I lost my dad. Tomorrow is just a glaring reminder that I no longer have him in my life. I slept in this morning. Drank coffee out on the deck. Took pictures with my new Anthropoligie mug. Had a dance party to "Circus" by Britney Spears because WHY NOT? Life is too damn short.

I spent my afternoon curled up in the chair in the living room reading Devotion: A Memoir by Dani Shapiro. I first heard Dani on an episode of The One You Feed podcast. I got a former library copy off of thrift books and have been underlining like crazy in black ballpoint pen (that may or may not be running out of ink... #oops). 

Since losing my dad, I have been closer examining my relationship with God. 

For a little bit of background... Both of my parents were Catholic. My grandma on my mom's side attended the same church all her life. That same church was the very same one everyone in my family made their first milestones in... My grandma and all of her siblings, as well as my mom and her siblings and myself, were all baptized at the front of that church. We all walked down the same aisle to make our First communion. I threw a fit every Sunday morning at approximately 8:30 growing up because I didn't want to get out of bed for Sunday School at 9 and then meeting my dad and grandma for mass at 10. My dad always bribed me to be good during church by promising me donuts after. 

Grandma would sit in the car as we'd go inside. The mornings we went to J. J.'s Bakery were my favorite. I can still remember the familiar green and yellow signage, J. J. curving around in an elegant script. The shop was tiny, and the donut case took up about half the space. We always got a dozen donuts—custard filled for grandma, crullers for my momma, jelly filled for dad, and long johns with sprinkles for me. I watched in awe as the man behind the counter fulfilled my six year old dreams of brightly colored rainbows and pink frosting.

I never realized how much those Sunday mornings rituals would mean to me until life inevitably changed and our routine was abandoned.

* * * * *

I have essentially been questioning my relationship with God my entire life. I was never actually sure of the stuff the teachers in Sunday school were spewing was real or not. (I was usually more concerned with how much I would have rather been in bed, still peacefully asleep and unaware of the outside world.) I think I was thirteen when I declared to my friend Brittany, "I'm an agnostic. Take that Catholicism."

Grief has opened up an entirely new window in my relationship with God. 

There has definitely been a shift in the last ten months. It started in the days after he died, as I was going through the book of scripture from the priest to find the readings for his funeral. I clutched the book close to my chest and talked to my dad.

"Dad, I don't know how to do this. Teach me how to ride a bike again. Teach me how to drive in an empty parking lot one more time. Help me to find the readings out of this book. Teach me how to say goodbye."

I scanned the book with tears brimming my eyes the entire time. I was looking for phrases that stood out to me. Small, beautiful phrases. Something that resonated with me. I couldn't for the life of me tell you the passages we read from that day, but I remember both of them had to do with light. And ever since that day, I have found God in light and shadow, in remembrance of that moment. 

* * * * * 

Tomorrow is Father's Day. And so again tonight, I am praying to my Dad.

Please give me the courage to face tomorrow with an open heart. Use the same gentleness you did every time you let me go without training wheels. Let me remember all that you were and feel out the grief. Give me the grace to not be overwhelmed when I feel soft and breakable. Give me a gentle reminder not to get lost in the darkness. Show me toward the light again.

Amen.

a birthday present

defeated by grief & blank text boxes

This little text box can be so damn intimidating sometimes. It's been almost a week since I last popped in to say hello to you, Blogland. It's not that stuff hasn't been happening—quite the opposite, actually. My anxiety has been running the show the last few days, over the weekend especially, so I've been trying to take it easy and just be gentle with myself. Lots of sunlight. Lots of coffee. Yoga before bed every night. Upping my water intake. Trying to take care of myself and allow myself to feel at peace when the world is no longer crushing me.

I had a meltdown leaving the bank on Friday afternoon after successfully depositing my paycheck and leaving with two checks made out to my dad's estate that I have to jump through major hoops in order to access the money. Option number one: obtain an Estate ID Number from the Courthouse and wait for the state to mail it to me, open a completely separate bank account in order to deposit the checks, withdraw the money and close the account, deposit the money into my personal account. Option number two: Acquire and fill out forms from the Department of Revenue website, mail that and the checks back to the state, and wait 4-6 weeks for them to reissue the checks in my name.

The teller looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I'm so sorry for the loss of your father."

I thanked her quickly and looked away, already fearing the tears that I knew were laying in waiting. They finally spilled over the surface as I headed out the door toward my car. I managed to say hello to one of my coworkers with what I hoped was a graceful "Hey!" in passing, in one door and out the other. All I wanted in that moment was the safety of my air conditioned car. The grief bug had bitten my heart again, and it wasn't about to be ignored.

That's the thing about grief that I always seem to forget in the off moments of grief: it doesn't matter what you're doing or how you feel when it hits you. When it hits you, it hits you hard. You are forced to show up for it whether you are ready or not.

Father's Day being right around the corner is a painful reminder of my grief. I took two vacation days from work for Father's Day weekend because I know that I will not be in the right emotional state of mind to be cheerful to customers all weekend long. My inbox is chock full of Father's Day ads, and usually I just delete them before even opening them. Today, one popped open as I deleted another email and I thought, "I don't even have a dad anymore."

There were tears. The kind that makes you wish you were around your mom so she could hug you and you could wipe your snot all over her shirt instead of your own. Grief is working its way into my days again, constantly reminding me of the moments I have lost with my dad. I miss him. I miss him so much and I don't even know how to articulate it or who the hell is even reading this anyway. The universe just needs to know that I miss my dad, and I wish that he were here right now. And that is okay.

today was my monday

...and it was a pretty good day. 

morning is my favorite time of day