Tag Archives: loss

Almost a year…


A year ago today is the last time I talked to my Dad.

I called him after I dropped Ian off in the morning on my way to work to tell him about something silly the kid had done. He was busy and short and gruff with me, but he was working so it was understandable.  And that’s just how he was, so I was not worried. I did want to call him that night, but didn’t, and I wanted to call him the next day but things got busy. I even thought about calling that night just to say I love you.

That would be a year ago tomorrow. Didn’t. So wishing I did, I could at least have told him I loved him one more time.

Don’t wait, call someone you love and tell them. How crazy that at 51, he was gone so fast. And there isn’t another time to tell him.


Loss and hope


I wrote in my real, paper journal today. I have 3 actually, but I’m not very good about writing in them. One is my personal book for goals, one is a book Bill and I share – it’s mainly love notes and a way to stay better connected and one is a book that is the story of our lives together. It documents our path and journey. When I write, I often write in more than one depending on my perspective. I’m not sure where this blog fits in yet.

Mostly tonight, I wrote about loss and hope. We’ve had so, so many losses in the last six months. So, so many to me is 5 – but they’ve mostly been big ones. I’m struggling to feel in control when I’m so obviously not. I’m trying to come up with ways to regain at least the belief that I have some control over my life, it’s direction and contents. So far my solutions have mainly been behaviorally based and focused on things, but really I don’t know what else to do or where to start. It’s something, right?

Today I have some hope. Even in the face of recent loss. We met a new person today, our dear friend’s first child. His name is Isaac, he’s tiny, brand new and perfect. He fills me with joy for them and hope for us. Really, the world goes on. Even when you feel like you can’t. I’m so thankful to have held a new life today, his quiet peace gives me hope that I’ll hold my own again sometime soon and help heal our family’s recent hurts.