Sunday, May 5, 2013

One Year Later

My dad passed away one year ago today. I still have a hard time saying died. It just sounds so cold and clinical. And even though my dad was a scientist, he wasn't clinical like that.  I cringe when people talk about death in terms of losing someone. It's not like I misplaced my dad at the grocery store and I can claim him at the service counter. Words sometimes do not help the situation. 

But because I feel I talk about him too much and not enough at the same time, I am little lost about how to mark this anniversary, especially publicly. Put down your Cinco de Mayo tacos and let me talk about sad things. That goes over well at parties, let me tell you. 

And I don't know really what I even have to say. I surely don't have any grand life lessons, silver linings, morals to story or advice to offer.


Hold on to those that make life worth living. Hold on to those living and breathing in your life and the memories and stories of those that have gone on before you.

Huh. Maybe there is a life lesson in me after all: people matter. People matter more than sparkly things and resumes and bank accounts and every other thing we try to fill our lives with when all really want and need are people to laugh at our jokes and sit on the other side of the couch. 

I just wish that life lessons didn't usually come after some traumatic event. Why can't they come while eating ice cream in the park? 

In a weird way, that I hope doesn't sound too unbecoming, I have felt a little lighter these last couple days. The first year after the hardest day has come to an end. Whoa. I survived that. When you survive something that  you didn't know if you could,  when you didn't get engulfed by the pain or the loneliness, when you realize that you have come out on the other side, and you are still, in relative terms, OK, well maybe there is something to you after all. 

Post Script: 10 Things My Father Taught Me. Still true. 


  1. There's something so important about having his handwriting. Cherish that.