Miss you, Dad

Writing this one has been therapeutic. It helped a ton. And if it can even help one other person going through something similar, it’s worth it. Might read a bit like a journal, but bear with me.

It’s been a few weeks since my dad died. We knew it was coming, but you’re never really ready for it. Especially given how hard he’d battled. Two-and-a-half years on a roller coaster and then it just stops. At some point, treatments and feeling like shit became normal - such is the life of a cancer patient and caretaker. An insidious disease that takes so long to deplete someone that somehow, someway, it becomes NORMAL. The constant anxiety, the worrying about the future, the guilt of living in Texas while he’s battling in Saratoga. It’s debilitating. But it all gets less pointed as time goes on because “he’s doing ok”.

Until he isn’t. And then you have to do the unimaginable at 28 and bury a parent for the second time in a year after the death of my mom. Pick up the pieces and forge on.

I posted this on Instagram after he died and it gives a pretty good idea of what he was about. I’m proud of it, I’m proud of him for battling as hard as he did for my sister and I, and I’m proud of the person he built in myself.

All of it rings true a few weeks later. But I forgot a few things. I forgot that I fell in love with hockey on the way to the rink with dad playing Shiny Happy People by R.E.M. before every practice (something about that opening riff), I forgot that I fell in love with football watching the 1999-2000 Greatest-Show-On-Turf Rams on the couch with him, I forgot that I fell in love with baseball hitting tennis balls off him in our backyard with one of those giant blue Vortex bats that made a sound so unique that I can’t even describe it.

I forgot to mention how he made life so much more fun, how he vaguely resembled Mr. Incredible, gave me an insatiable drive to go after what I’m passionate about, and how he made a grilled cheese so good that I dedicated thousands of words to it.

And I forgot to mention how hard it was gonna be after he was gone. Because I just didn’t know. My best friend in the world who I can’t text or call when life gets messy. I no longer get to look forward to seeing him around the holidays or watching him hang with his grandkids someday. Not that I have those yet, but you know what I mean.

So here’s a note on grief, how we got here, and where we’re going.

Grief is fickle. And grief has been unique. My mom passed suddenly, unexpectedly, and on the same day where my dad was about to be re-diagnosed with terminal cancer. I’ll throw July 15th, 2021 up there in the worst Thursday of all time rankings, for sure. That grief was immediate, sharp, and quickly replaced by more anxiety. With dad, it’s been long, drawn out, under-the-surface and usually in the shadows until a memory or a dream decides to make its way to the forefront and knock you down a peg or two. And that’s grief that I’m still dealing with at this very moment. BUT what’s been cool is that as more of those waves hit, the more time passes the more you can handle them. The less they can affect you. And the better you get at moving forward.

It took me a while to write this because I felt lost. Like two good weeks of absolutely not feeling like myself. No sleep. A deluge of texts and messages that one, I’m extremely extremely grateful for and reminded me of the group of people I have around me, both in person and on the internet, but two, added a level of weight that kept the situation at the front of my brain. It was hard to escape.

I’m still not there yet. There are days where I can’t do anything but stare through my computer screen. There are days where I hear a song, see an old pic, hear from an old friend that send me spiraling. There are days where I feel like running a la Forrest Gump and just driving to absolutely nowhere to get out of my head. So I’m still not “back” as they say and I’m not exactly sure how I’m gonna get there. But I do know that I want to, that I’m driven to, and that mom & dad would be making sure I did so. So after all that, let me get to the part that may give you some hope if you’re going through something.

Hitting the reset button on life isn’t easy. But if there’s anything that years of anxiety and worry coming to an end does, it provides absolute clarity. I was lucky enough to talk to my dad a few days before he died about life, about moving forward, about what he wanted his golf tournament to be named, and about our favorite memories. It gave me a roadmap.

I’ve hit the reset button on friends and family, both of which I’ve not seen enough nor made enough effort to hear from on my end. That changes now.

I’ve hit the reset button on work. Finishing things that have needed attention for a while and reprioritizing moving forward. My coworkers have been beyond understanding. They’re an unbelievable group and I’m lucky to have them.

I’ve hit the reset button on my health. Both parents dying by 58 tends to give you a kick in the ass when it comes to personal health and wellness. So we’re swapping ghee for butter, coco aminos for soy sauce, and probably skipping breakfast.

Mental health, too. Therapy? You bet.

And why not financial health. Did I make a few retail therapy purchases in the form of a new driver shaft, Breeders Cup tix, and a vintage Marv Levy Buffalo Bills knit sweater? Sure. But despite the miles, my excel spreadsheet is about to get a workout.

Finally, a reset button in the ol’ noggin. I mentioned before that there are days I feel like running. So I’m gonna do that - Saratoga to San Diego - open road for a week to reconnect with friends, old and new. Maybe I’ll live blog the Iowa City night. Maybe I’ll see y’all along the way.

On top of that, I’m realizing life is finite, can be short, and cannot be lived anywhere else but right this second yet it’s made infinitely better when you have something to look forward to. Maybe a trip, maybe a meal, maybe a person - just something.

Lastly, I’m acknowledging that grief subsides - because it has been, feeling the days getting a little bit brighter - because they are, and enjoying every single moment on this rock like Mom & Dad would’ve wanted me to. That’s getting easier to do by the day.

We’re gonna be alright, gang. Text your friends, call your parents, message me if you need to, and do something to make yourself feel good today. Time heals all and grief subsides - that’s law.

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If you’d like to make a donation to the Cancer Research Institute, I’d be forever grateful. We benefitted from their breakthrough immunotherapies in the treatment of cancer by keeping dad around for MONTHS after it looked like time was up. They’re getting close to making cancer a thing of the past and I cannot wait for that day.

We’ll do a celebration of life in Saratoga and Rochester as well. I’ll hit y’all those announcements soon.