Stand By Me

Mom was my best friend. We laughed at the same stupid things, we loved the same music, we enjoyed the same wine. We liked to waste away afternoons wondering through Walmart or sitting on the patio at Seester’s Mexican restaurant talking about nothing and everything. Whatever we were doing, we always had fun. Ugh…I miss her.

But no matter how much I loved mom, how much we shared, and how much we had in common, I have always been a daddy’s girl. Ole’ Davey gave me my stubby midget legs, my love of red vines and black licorice, my short temper, and my first-ever nickname. We share a weird, special bond… one that I am so thankful for.

Another thing we share is our unique pain in missing mom, and the fact that neither of us has actually come to grips with the fact that she is gone.

Last Friday, dad made his way down to Indiana (his second time in the 5ish years I have lived here) for the long Labor Day weekend. I was SO excited for him to come visit me that I called him almost every night during the two weeks leading up to his trip that I think he was so sick of me he momentarily considered not coming. 😊 But he did! And boy, did we have a great time.

We talked about mom, we shared beers and tears and a lot of great memories. We golfed.

*Full disclaimer – for those of you that know me, you know that I did not actually partake in the golfing part, but I did fully enjoy my 32 oz. bloody mary on the back 9.

We spent a few hours at Top Golf, we spent Saturday evening with Brandon’s family and Sunday drinking beers on the patio with some of the greatest, most amazing friends. I could tell dad had so much fun, but there was always a quiet sadness to him the whole time he was there. This isn’t either of our first losses, but it’s hands down our hardest.

Amidst all the fun moments we had during those 4 days, there were plenty of heavy moments. Moments filled with tears and honest admissions. Mine, that I still refuse to admit that she is gone. That it’s like she is just on one of her many international vacations with no cell service. His, that he has never felt so alone. I hate that for him and I wish so badly that I could change it.

So many people have been so amazing to dad. Inviting him out to baseball games and dinners and parties. Bringing him home cooked meals or just dropping by to say hi. He stays busy with work and with golf and with all the activities and invitations that he has readily accepted and enjoyed…

But something is still missing. As much as the pain of missing mom crushes my soul, it will never compare to the sadness dad feels every time he gets home from work to a completely empty house.

He told me that is the worst part, the feeling of being so alone. If I could erase this entire nightmare for him I would… but I can’t. The best I can do is stand by him and remind him that no matter how bad it gets, that he will never be alone. Speaking of being alone…I also spent a number of hours trying to convince him to get a puppy next may when he retires, so if anyone has the hookup to a good St. Bernard breeder let me know! 😊

No matter how hard I tried to keep the mood light and fun – every moment spent with him just reminded me that mom WASN’T there, which sucks, because it was her perfect kind of weekend.

It’s been 208 days and I still cannot wrap my mind around the thought that I will literally never see her again. That dad will spend every night alone, and that we will never hear her laugh or see her smile again.

208 days doesn’t seem like that long, but in those days, I have found a million things that have taken on new meaning, a million faces and words that no longer bring comfort like they used to, and a million moments that feel cold and empty without her.

I never realized I would need dad’s strength and support more than I do in those empty moments. We’re all grieving, but there’s something about being able to talk to him about her and having him just get it. There’s something about being able to call him at night and tell him about my day like I used to tell mom. In those moments, I kinda sorta feel normal for a minute. There’s something in knowing that someone still has my back and will fight for me like she used to. And there’s something in knowing that no matter how bad my day or my week is, I will be OK as long as he is there.

If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
Or the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear