Tag Archives: family

These are my Thanksgiving fears

I worry that…

  • I will forget to make myself undiscoverable on Tinder.
  • Someone will hit me in the nose during a well-intentioned hug.
  • I won’t get enough Old Forge-style pizza or naps.
  • Mom will suggest seeing the movie, Carol. I do not want to see Carol with you, Mom.
  • I will cry every day I am back home, missing Dad. He loved Thanksgiving.
  • I will lose my mind telling family friends all of the reasons that they need to stop thinking that Trump is actually vote-worthy. I’d direct them to Sarah Silverman’s tweet but I don’t want to foist them on Twitter.

Go Sarah

  • Someone will ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend.
  • No one will ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend because they assume I’m a lost cause.

Forever Alone

Hopefully your Thanksgiving holiday is lighthearted and fun – at least compared to mine!

I’m struggling.

It has been three months and two weeks since we lost my Dad. If there’s a part of my life that hasn’t been affected by grief, well, I couldn’t identify it for you.


Physically, I just don’t feel right and that’s something I never expected. It’s rare I go a day without a headache. Continue reading

Good bye, Summer of Suck

When I tell you that nothing good happened this summer, BELIEVE ME. I am not prone to exaggeration.


Well, OK. Sometimes, but not often.

Seriously, when the best thing to happen to a person all summer is a clear mammogram, that is a Bad Summer. Well, I did go to the Berkshires and California a few times.

But I’m still referring to this summer as the Summer of Suck for reasons you surely understand. In honor of the approaching autumnal equinox, here’s a look at the summer that was.

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Good riddance, Summer. Fall, please be kind.


My first post about Life After Dad

My worst fears came true: my sweet, kind gentleman of a Dad died on Friday, July 17.

I have so many thoughts and feelings on this sad time, but need a little time to pull myself together and get my life back in order. Dad spent most of the last five weeks of his life in a Philadelphia hospital so much of my non-family life has been on hold. And I wouldn’t change a thing (except, of course, if I could strike a deal to have Dad back and healthy).

Dad dimples

For the time being, here’s a pic of my father that I love, as well as the text of the eulogy I gave for him at his funeral today. Continue reading

Lows and highs

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” I said to the woman next to me.

“It’s ok. I wasn’t sleeping, I was just dreaming,” she replied as I stood to slip past her on the Philadelphia-bound train to visit Dad in the hospital.

I smiled. Across the aisle*, her elderly husband was full-on asleep, arms crossed and head bowed. He was older than his wife who had taken the lead in finding seats and then in ensuring his comfort.

Looking at them as a couple, I thought of my mother, fit and strong and ten years younger than my father. Growing up, I never thought of their age difference as a big deal. Now, Dad’s age and health conditions are yielding a lot of heartache.

I’m trying not to equate love with pain and loss. But right now, it’s so very hard. Someday everyone I love will be gone. I too will leave this earth someday. And because I don’t have the crutch of believing in heaven, these feelings are a heavy burden.

Dad’s condition is stable now, but eight days into this hospital stay, we have no sense of when he might be ready to go home. No independence for Dad this July 4th.


I usually spend Independence Day with a family group in Rehoboth Beach. This year, there was an issue with the house we stay at so even if Dad were healthy, we were not going to be able to spend the holiday there together as is our tradition. Continue reading

We almost lost him. Someday we will.

For the first time, I understood.

Instead of thinking “Daddy, please don’t die. Don’t leave me,” I just wanted him not to suffer. The selfishness of a daughter evaporated.

The doctors had Dad sitting perfectly upright, a mask covering his entire face and forcing air into his lungs. He was sedated, given morphine for pain. When I spoke to him and stroked his hand, Dad  opened his eyes and tried to reassure me.

“Rest, Dad. You need to rest. Don’t worry about me.”

And then I went out into the hospital corridor, nearly biting through my bottom lip as I tried to stifle my sobs.

With Dad during carefree times

With Dad during carefree times

Continue reading