Today I paradoxically take ease with myself while also pushing myself and my lungs as I run as hard as I can. I will indulge in more chocolate than it seems possible and I will often over indulge in a cocktail hour that has been known to start as early as the night before.
Today I find myself markedly slower. Deliberate in my movements.
Today I breathe deep, I linger in a hot shower, I sit and smile to myself, I listen to same lyrics on repeat and I spend the days with tears always brimming below the surface. I hug my children. I share I LOVE yous with my siblings and my mom. I cling to my husband never needing to even say a word. Lingering for a moment or staying for an hour.
Today I mourn.
Today I find myself slowing down and reminding myself to be gentle. Gentle with myself. Searching out for what brings me happiness. A good workout, a hot shower, clean sheets, reading to my girls and being near my husband.
Today I find myself a little less undone. And I’m okay with that. Because I know there will be another day when I am completely undone. There is no schedule to my mourning.
Today I share my thoughts from earlier this month….when I sat among my family, silent tears streaming down my face and me completely undone.
Here are my words from that day.
As the sixth anniversary of my dad’s passing approaches, I am struck how incredible the depth of loss I still feel today.
I never could have imagined the hole that is always in my heart by his absence.
I imagined the grief I have for my dad would mimic the grief I had for my grandma. That time would certainly heal the enormous hole in my heart. That a time would come when I could remember, speak and share without needing a box of Kleenex. That my pain would dull. It hasn’t dulled but rather the pain is just less frequent.
But six years later with the announcement that my brother is expecting a baby boy (his first), here I am emotionally undone.
I am happy for my brother and so incredibly sad that my dad isn’t here to hear the announcement.
I am also strangely and unexpectedly emotional that the Reid name will live on.
My dad was alive for all three of my pregnancies and for the birth of my three girls. Although, I lived far from my dad I have photos of him with my kids.
I have one child old enough to remember snippets of him, another child who has Reid blue eyes and another child who was present at his death.
I wish my dad could have seen his first grandson be born and be here to share the news of the impending arrival of his second.
And the first that will carry on his last name.
So very fuddy-duddy of me.
Considering two days before my own wedding, I tried talking my then finance into combining our names into Reison.
As a rule, I don’t believe in seeing ghosts but I do believe my then 3 year saw my dad in our home a year after his death. I don’t care if I’m wrong. I like having this memory. I like believing. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.
So it is in the little things that we feel his presence. The happenstance that we end up at the same beach under the same tree. The butterfly that we watch emerge from a cocoon and then linger on our finger tips. The odd old Busch can tossed in the bushes as we share in happy times together.
His presence is in the memories we share with each other; knowing that each of us has the same hole in our hearts.
Life is full of happy moments. Times we wish we could share with my dad. Moments that we smile and hug our kids and spouse extra tight.
And moments when we find ourselves longing for a time and place that no longer exists.