this is a page for

Browsing Tag: grief

Nine Years

On Easter Sunday we marked the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death (pancreatic cancer doesn’t spare the loving). We joined the family for Easter mass, as always, and we had Easter dinner, as always. The day was filled with its own dramas, its own troubles big and small, as they so often pop up, holiday or not. My brother and I talked about it briefly when he called from the home he shares with his wife in Wisconsin. Something about the symbolism of the Easter anniversary. The depressing aspect that yep, Dad’s still dead (because despite nine years you still wonder sometimes if it’s just a bad dream you’ve yet to shake off). Jesus is risen, but Dad’s still gone. David’s dad’s anniversary was a couple weeks ago (I’ve said it before: April is super fun around here), and we hadn’t commemorated it “officially”–between David’s travels for work, and then life, it hadn’t happened. Yesterday we remembered Dad and Tom with a quick toast and moved on to the ham, because what…

The Luca Post

Note: I wrote this last Monday. Life since then has been…sad. Quiet. Very, very clean without the tumbleweeds of dog hair that used to appear on the hallway floor. Those of you who’ve lost beloved pets, I’m so sorry. They love us so much it’s hard not to love them back just as fiercely–and harder still to let them go when we need to. —————- The kids are all huddled around Luca right now. Saoirse hasn’t even changed out of her school uniform, and for the last hour they’ve been lying beside him, watching a video on my iPad. Saoirse’s been giving him hugs and kisses so often the dog’s sort of smooshed into the corner of the hallway now, loved to exhaustion. I told the girls this afternoon on the way home from school that we were going to have to put Luca down today. I said to Saoirse, who understands more, that Luca, who was already very old and rundown, had thrown up, collapsed (I said he fell) and lost control of his bladder. This isn…

‘Tis the Season

I had about five ideas for posts that were about funny things, cute things (Quinlan said to me the other day, “Your boots are UGLY.” And then she must’ve seen the look on my face, and added, “I didn’t say your body was ugly. You are non-ugly.”). But the last couple of days, when I’ve been rocking Cian in his room before bedtime (the child is almost two and still likes to be held before he goes to sleep. Isn’t that awesome?), I’ve found myself in tears like a weirdo, silently sniffling, hoping nobody walks in and notices (and here I go telling you about it. Swift, Leah). See, here’s the thing. I had what I’m fairly certain was an anxiety attack in the car the other night, just driving with the girls in the back seat, preoccupied and worried and scared because I always feel like I’m drowning. Some of you know the drill: heart racing, chest tightening, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. It was fun. Santa Stress, you’ve succeeded. But there I was…