Last Monday was my birthday. I received birthday wishes via e-mail from three school friends that I hadn't heard from in quite a while.
While it was so nice to be remembered by the these long-time friends, I hated having to reply to them solely because I had to tell them that my dad had passed.
Being that these ladies were my childhood friends, they all knew my dad pretty well. I hated giving them that news. After I sent the e-mail, I had to go cry a little in the bathroom, silently and then pretend I hadn't just been in the bathroom crying at work. Again. (If we had a yearbook at my work, I'd be voted "Most Likely to Cry at her Desk." Yeah, I'm a fun co-worker.)
But I've come to terms with my dad's death for the most part. I'm still sad over the circumstances, but life goes on. Like Stephen King wrote, "Get busy living or get busy dying."
Later this month, we're having a memorial for my dad in California. We're going to spread his ashes.
Just thinking about that gives me a sense of relief, the closure is much needed. But it also overwhelms me with sadness.
Towards the end, my dad fought every day, every minute, every second to stay alive. Believe me, it wasn't pretty. But I learned that life is a gift that we must celebrate every day — even sad Mondays.