Working Mom's Mantra

Today I am... Reflective. Nostalgic. Thankful.

It is the one-year anniversary of my father's passing. One year ago today we experienced tragic loss when a brain tumor took my dad after a mere 5 and a half weeks after his diagnosis with Glioblastoma - the Tsunami of brain Cancer.

It seems like yesterday and it seems like 5 years ago that all of this happened. The images are blurry and truncated and edited haphazardly in my mind. But the mind, ironically as we're discussing, is an amazing instrument. My brain conjured up a moment-by-moment recount of every scene that took place one year ago today.

5:45 a.m... we were waking up from our non-sleeping stupor at the hospital, anticipating the inevitable.

9:15 a.m.... hearing someone wailing and shuttering and realized that it was me. My dad was gone.

3:45 p.m.... picking up our son from school and telling him the news and feeling like I punched myself in the stomach while watching his poor little face contort and attempt to comprehend this ridiculous story we were telling him. How could it possibly be?

All 364 days after... trying to piece together the new normal. It's not easy. We were a close family. We lost our rock. A healthy, vibrant, young mountain of a man who seemed impossible to break. How do you rebuild your life when your king of the mountain falls? How do you sketch a picture of the grandfather your young (and unborn) children, nephews and nieces will never know? How do you continue to answer mind-blowing, spiritual, medical, philosophical and non-sensical 7 year-old questions from a grieving grandson who idolized the very air that his hero-Papa breathed?

I don't pretend have solved the riddle or had some big epiphany and now magically possess the answers to any of these questions. What I do know is that I've tried to emulate how my father lived and it has helped me heal a little more each day. My dad was strong and stubborn and smart and so very supportive. He was beloved by his family and friends and co-workers and neighbors. He was honest and lived life to the very fullest. He stopped to smell the roses and his glass was always half full.

Capturing that vigor, zest, joy and adventure and infusing it into my life a little bit has been a particularly challenging effort, but I am not giving up. My parents also gave me the type A personality gene which means (and close friends already know this!) I am pretty high-strung, a neat freak, a worry wart and like things just so. I've pushed harder and tried new, difficult things, worried less, called old friends and let the dishes sit for a minute. I am still working on 'uni-tasking', as a guest author so comically described in her short essay in this month's Real Simple. That is going to take some time but I am getting there. (As I sit here, eating, writing, checking email, cleaning out my purse, making a Thanksgiving shopping list and picking out a paint color for the dining room while on a conference call).

There is not really an adjective to describe how I am today or how I feel. All I know is that I feel differently than one year ago, hiking through this, as my sister called - life lesson. We're learning as we go and are trying to grow. Grief doesn't have a stopwatch, an hour-glass, an expiration date. It also doesn't have a face, as Cheryl Strayed said in Wild (just finished this morning, btw). So you never really know how or what or where or when someone is grieving because it can take on an immeasurable array of styles, forms, stages and expressions.

I decided that today my face of grief is appreciative, thoughtful and hopeful. A friend has said that he thinks 2013 is the year for good things to happen. He's been repeating this mantra for a few months now. It's starting to catch on.

So here's to you, Dad. I'll miss your gigantic smile, your killer cooking, your infectious holiday spirit, your amazing energy, your larger than life love for our boys, your incredibly generous heart and unconditional support.

What I never said or even thought to say when you were here was how proud I was of you for all of those things. We said 'I love you' regularly. We knew how very honored you were to be our father, but I wish I could have told you how proud I was to be your daughter and was lucky enough to be loved by you.

Cheers from down here.