Living with the Everyday Sunday Scaries

White knuckling it through life over here, hbu? Apologies I haven't had much content to share, but right now, I'm struggling to even stay above water. Losing my dad has been the gut-punch that I wasn't ready for, and I am struggling to let myself fully feel the pain, anguish, and regret that comes along with grieving the complicated relationship I had with him. I suppose it's self-preservation, but I just can't let it happen right now.

Every day feels hard. If it weren't for my kids, I probably wouldn't be much inclined to get out of bed, to be honest. The last time I remember being genuinely happy in the past week was on my daughter's first birthday when I was pushing her on the swing at the park. She was giggling and letting out little squeals of joy, and I was in it with her, you know? I wish I could say I've had more of those moments lately, but I haven't, and that's not for lack of trying. I just... I'm really struggling with anxiety since my dad died, and yet anxiety feels better than complete and total sorrow. It's the beast I know. All in all, I guess you could say I'm not coping very well, and I'm not able to fully grieve or address the gut-wrenching pain of it, simply because I have to parent, and I have to be strong right now.

That doesn't mean I don't feel it. I just have to stay a bit more numb than usual or I'll completely break.

Rest-assured, I'll find my way again. I'll let myself process and feel and I'll hold myself through. I just need to get through November first.

One Day You'll Do Something Beautiful With Your Pain

You always do, or so they say.

But right now... you be with it, let it crash into you, and try not to let it overtake you. Time doesn't stop for grief. Clocks don't run out of ticks. This, you've learned. Grief swoops in on an ordinary Thursday—your family at the dinner table, laughing and eating breakfast for supper, when you get the phone call you know will change your life.

Grief doesn't care. It doesn't care that you have other plans, or different ways you'd rather spend your time. You have to do it in the midst of living.

Sing to your baby. Plan her first birthday—order dresses and balloon archways for that tiny, revolutionary girl. Touch your lover's face—remember how he cried with you on the bathroom floor. Read Hemingway to your son. Get lost in the Halloween plans, the school calendars, the photo days, the master-lists. Listen to your daughter talk endlessly about fashion and beauty and things that seem so meaningless—even if you don't want to. That's where the life is.

So stay here. Stay present. Breathe through every awful, painful, overwhelming feeling. You know that's the only way.

Everything will shape you—the same way water carves stone, ever so slowly over time.

One day, something beautiful will emerge.

It has to.

Goodbye Dad, I Love You.

Daddy,

You were the first man I ever loved—to keep me safe and warm, and to show me what it meant to be loved in return.

The fact that I’m writing this means the most unbearable thing is true—that your journey here on Earth has come to an end. I’ve spent the past few days trying to encapsulate what you meant to me and make it palatable for the masses, but the truth is, it’s not easy to fold our 38 years together neatly into a box, so I won’t try to. It wouldn’t capture every nuance, and it wouldn’t let me grieve the relationship we had alongside the one I wish we had but didn’t.

Love—real human love—is often messy. It can begin with warmth, and despite our best intentions, still leave us wounded and wishing that things were different.

When I was younger, I thought you hung the moon. I was your little girl; you were my everything. You protected, supported, and cared for me, and provided constant opportunities for fun and adventure, especially outdoors. You were born to be a dad and took great pride in it, nurturing every strength and interest my siblings and I had, while enthusiastically sharing your own. Life changed, and as I grew older, the harder it became for you to be the dad I needed. But this never diminished my love for you. It just complicated it.

You were filled with goodness. Beneath that rough-hewn exterior, lived a sensitive soul who felt more deeply than most. All our differences aside, I inherited this from you, even as our methods of handling vulnerability diverged greatly. I feel things all the way through. You, ever the fixer and builder, constructed walls that often felt too high to climb. With your mechanical mind, you had an innate understanding of the hums and rattles of an engine, yet struggled to tend to the workings of the heart. This cost us precious time. Despite our clashes, there is one simple truth: we had a deep, unyielding love for each other.

Now I’m left to contend with the beauty and the pain. One day, I will choose only to hold the tenderness that lives somewhere in between.

I love you bigger than the whole wide world, Daddy, and I always will.