(1) work has been on the busy side. Whoo ha; and
(2) the unfortunate reality is that I have honestly not felt like writing anything in the last month-plus. When you look at the chain of events that have unfolded and will continue to unfold in the next few weeks (11/8: the day my dad died – 11/17: my birthday – 11/27: Thanksgiving, and the anniversary of the death of my maternal grandmother – 12/9: my dad’s birthday – 12/22: my parents’ wedding anniversary – 12/25: Christmas) I will genuinely be surprised what, if anything, gets posted to this monster before 2009.
Now having typed that, I, of course, will get struck with 38,000 ideas to write about and will need an outlet for them all.
This week was insanely rough on me. Moreso than I could have even imagined. I mean, the 1-2 punch of the loss of my dog and my dad clearly weighs on my heart and mind, but…there were so many little things that just chipped away at my soul this year that I really felt like, at times, the sorrow would just crush me beyond repair.
Like how Ashley and I didn’t have to carry Cricket down the stairs at her mom’s house like we normally do at Thanksgiving. Like how everywhere I look, I see penguins (which was our less-than-flattering nickname for her) or some kind of huge, comfy bed that she would have loved. Like how there was no one to sneak scraps to at Thanksgiving.
Like how everywhere we shopped this weekend, I saw things I wanted to call my dad about. Like how everywhere we went there was an abundance of food I would have normally told him about – and then bought him some kind of sample of to mail him. Like how when we were touring Christmas decorations and lights I could almost hear his voice telling me which side of the car to look out of.
Like how I just wanted to hear my dad’s voice on the phone one more time. Like how I just wanted to pet Cricket and feel her fur one more time.
I give Ashley mad crazy props (and a ridiculous amount of love and admiration) for trying to make my birthday as “normal” as it could be – even going so far as to making me (from scratch!) a caramel cake (from a recipe in The Grit’s cookbook) and buying me an authentic Tom-Baker-era replica Dr. Who scarf as a gift (which, yes, I look great in). She has been an amazing support throughout all this, and in all candor, I have utterly no clue how I would have survived these past few weeks without her. I know that every time she looks at me and sees the pain in my eyes and/or the tell-tale sign of me wiping tears away that it eats at her soul.
And yes, I know intellectually that the holidays – and all the subsequent months and years to come – will get easier after this first year, but in my heart, I just feel like it’s going to be a long time until the end of the year and I have successfully navigated through all the emotional potholes to come.
On a more upbeat note, last night, we were watching THE RETURN OF THE KING, and according to Ashley, our as-of-yet-fully-unnamed-child-to-be was kicking up a storm. So. Let’s see – he kicks when Tolkien is invoked, when Dr. Who is on television, and when she eats chocolate. Yep. That’s my kid, alright.