Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Born to run

Before my father got sick, I was on a super self-improvement plan. I had no boyfriend, started working out and keeping track of what I ate, and even stopped drinking so much. I was feeling so good--on top of the world, as they say.
When I heard my father was sick, and went home to visit, I did not walk or run, lift weights, or even eat. I dropped another five pounds. Good, I guess, but not the way I wanted to do it. And then when my father passed away, it was like the self-improvement stuff seemed self-indulgent. Why should I try to improve me while my father is fighting just to take some deep breaths?
When my brother Tony was killed twenty-five years ago, my father was in his early 40s, like me. He said that before Tony's death, he had felt "on top of the world." He was a successful business man, two of his kids were adults, and he had a nice house, wife, and young son to raise. My brother's untimely death in a motorcycle accident dimmed the sparkle in my father's eye--he was humbled in a way he never had been before.
I never imagined how vulnerable I would feel after my father's death. He was a best friend to me, more like an older brother than a father.
Most people are consumed by regret when someone dies. "If only I would have spent more time with them," or "I never got to say good-bye," or "I never shared how much I loved them," and so on. My father passed away knowing how much I loved him because I told him every day while he was sick. I kissed his head, helped take care of him, and told him he was the "best dad in the world." My last words to him were "I love you so much," and his last words to me were "I love you so much too."
Last night, I finally dragged my hind-end (and the rest of me) to the gym and ran three plus miles. I realized that I am not consumed by regret for loose ends that weren't tied between my father and me. What saddens me is having to move forward in my life without my best friend. 

Friday, October 26, 2012

How did I get here?

Hi, friends. How can I be 44 already? Aughhhh! I still feel about sixteen. And that's on a good day. I love the story my father has told me about the night I was born. How he was in the waiting room watching Frankenstein on the TV while my mother was in labor. Does that mean I was destined to be someone interested in literature? Because I loved Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Or does it mean I was destined to be an outcast? Fire, BAD. Either way, I have always loved fall--the orange and burgundy leaves, pumpkin carving, and Thanksgiving. I thank my father and mother today for having the hots for each other back in the late 60s. This is my first birthday without the 20 dollar check and birthday card from my dad. I did tell him the week before he died that every good trait I have is because of him. And what better time to tell him thank you than on the day I was born. Love you, Daddy-O!

Thursday, October 25, 2012

I'm back

Some of you know my father died on October 9. I am not sure if I really know it yet. With this new blog, The Cobbler's Daughter, I am going to attempt to come to terms with it. When you are known for being a fun-loving, happy person and you lose someone dear to you, it's hard to have people see you as less than happy. Less than fun-loving. Most days, I really just want to lie in bed next to my dog.

I hope you are willing to read along on my journey. You certainly are a welcome guest.