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Browsing Tag: dad

Mom’s Decline: Definitely Not How We Wanted It to Go

“Well, this isn’t how I thought it was going to go.” Cian said this to me the week before last. He was lying in bed beside me, and the clock said it was about four a.m. He’d been up since the middle of the night with what I thought was the stomach flu. See, Quinlan had started a barfing marathon a few nights before, then it fell on David, Saoirse, and me simultaneously like an avalanche of awful a couple of nights later (because like all things evil in the storybooks, the stomach flu descends during the night). So when a poop bomb went off in Cian’s room at one a.m., and continued to go off for the next three days (it turns out it was the actual flu this time. Silly us!), well. We were used to digestive grossness by then. Cian, though? Well, our poor buddy was in shock. And so it became the theme of our January: this isn’t how we thought it was going to go. My mom had her brain MRI last week, with a much different follow-up than usual with her…

Cian Challenging the Rules: Well, When You Think of it That Way

In the evening after the first day of school, Cian made an announcement. “I’m going to be very well-behaved this year.” He stopped and took a look around the table at each of us. A brief look of self-doubt passed over his face. “Well,” he clarified, “at least while I’m in school.” This, my friends, is my third-born. He came home last week all sorts of worked up. We were in the car after I’d picked them up from school, and he said, “I don’t know about this first grade. My teacher wants us to RAISE our HANDS before we talk. That doesn’t make any sense. If she’s close enough, I should just talk. She answered me the first time I did it. But after that? She didn’t pay attention to me!” I didn’t have to say anything because both of his sisters rolled their eyes and jumped in for me. Quinlan just sighed. “Cian.” Saoirse told him, “Cian. You’re in elementary school now. That’s how it is in ALL of the classes. Everybody has to raise his hand.” “But that doesn’t make any…

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…