Sixteen Candles - A Birthday Letter for my Daughter

To my dear daughter,

When you were born, I couldn't envision the day that you would turn sixteen.  You were so tiny and so new, that the thought of you as a teenager was unimaginable.  Yet here we are a few days from your sixteenth birthday.

You have grown from such an adorable, quiet and shy little girl into a beautiful, engaging and articulate young woman.  The tenacity that you show in accomplishing your goals is something that continues to amaze me.  Your courage in facing adversity and the challenges that you encounter daily is nothing short of incredible. 
The way that you so maturely handle the onerous task of trying to make others understand what sets you apart makes me so very proud of you.

I realized recently that you have been swimming against the tide since before you were even born.  Due to some complications, during the last months of your "incubation" I was consumed with worry that you wouldn't survive to see this world.  In true "Emily" nature though, not only did you survive but you were too impatient to even wait until the due date, thus arriving five weeks early.  Thankfully, though you weighed all of five pounds, you were healthy, feisty and bossy right from the start. 

From the first day, you slept and ate on your own schedule rather than the one that the baby books said you should (something you continue to do to this day).  You reached the milestones well ahead of your time, and you constantly surprised everyone with your early accomplishments.  Everything you did was exactly when you wanted to, never when we were expecting it, and always with a little streak of mischief and a lot of independence.

It's hard for me to look at you and not see the baby girl that gave my life such purpose.  I still sneak in and watch you when you're sleeping (don't get creeped out - all mothers do this), and I still see the little girl with the blonde curls who just couldn't wait to be "growed up".  Well, you're almost there and I'm still not ready.
I'm not ready for the boyfriend, not ready to see you behind the wheel of a car (and no, not mine) and I'm not ready to see you with a job.  Then again, I wasn't ready to hear you talk, or walk or start school but those things all happened, and it turned out just fine.

I know that life isn't always a bed of roses when you're a teenager, but soon enough you'll be out of the teen years.  High school will become a distant memory as you move on to other things.  You'll have your ups and downs, and the downs will sometimes seem insurmountable.  I can't tell you that will ever stop as you get older because life will continue to give you ups and downs.  How you handle the downturns will help determine the outcome, so muster as much grace and courage as you can to get through them.  You will welcome people into your life for many years to come, and you'll lose people as well.  Friends and lovers will come and go.  It will hurt at the time, but remember that when people leave you it isn't a reflection on you.  All it means is that their place in your story has come to an end.  It doesn't mean the story is over, just that a new chapter needs to be written.

So, write your story Emily.  Fill it with as many chapters as you can, and as many pages as you can fit.  Edit as necessary, review often.  You may not have written the first few chapters by yourself, but you now have total control in how the rest of the story unfolds.  Write it with passion, write it with pride and write it in purple because no one will expect that.

Happy birthday sweetheart, I love you to the moon and back.

Soulmates

I am in love.  I have finally found the one that can make me happy just by being near me.  My new love willingly goes everywhere that I go, and very graciously leaves all of the decisions up to me. I feel spoiled.  The pace is set by me, there is never a dispute about where I want to go, or what time of day or night I decide we should get out for a bit.  I have found a real gem, so quiet and so pretty to look at.  We can overcome the age difference, I am sure of it.  I have all a woman could ask for.  My companion practically purrs when we are together.  How loved I feel.  

 

Before anyone starts asking when the wedding is, I should clarify that I have fallen in love not with a man, but with my new car. I have given up all hope of ever being in any other type of relationship, and I'm pretty sure I can get at least an eight year run out of this one.  All I have to do is remember to keep it hydrated with fuel, wash it occasionally and take it in for scheduled check ups.  Sort of like having a dog, without having to pick up any undesirable leavings.

I don't have to be dressed in any particular style; my car cares not whether my hair looks like a corn broom in the middle of a fit, and it doesn't make smart-ass remarks on the state of my mood.  I don't have to try to make small-talk or have an emergency backup plan, unlike the three recent ill-fated dates that I foolishly embarked on over the last two weeks.

On the first one, I could clearly see my little car across the parking lot while I suffered an hour of what surely was more boring than watching paint dry.  How I longed to just make a run for it and ensconce myself securely in the haven of my lime green Hyundai. I think I kissed the steering wheel when I got in, but I don't really remember.  My brain was numb by that point.

On the second, although my car was parked out of sight, I knew it was there.  I couldn't stop thinking about it.  I finally "admitted" to my far too young date that I was interested in someone else and really shouldn't waste any more of his time.  I just didn't admit that the someone else was my car.  The one that I practically sprinted to once I broke a speed record finishing a cup of coffee.

The third (and as far as I'm concerned last) failed date took place blocks away from where I parked my little pride and joy.  I started having separation anxiety as I got further and further from where I left my little gem.  Now, to be fair, date number three was very easy on the eyes.  Enough for me to temporarily forget about my little green machine.  Until I asked him what he did for a living.  Once he said he was a commercial pilot, I had no choice but to fake illness and cut my losses. I work with pilots every single day.  I could find no polite way to say I'd rather be shot in the head than date one.  So I bolted.  Right back to the parkade and into the arms of my soul mate.  

When the seats started heating up, I knew I was forgiven for my betrayal. I'll never cheat on my amour again. I've learned my lesson.  Next week we're going to the automotive store to pick out floor mats and air freshener.  Because that's what couples do.

Memories of Dad

Tomorrow marks my first Fathers Day without my Dad. While sorting through some old photos last night, the memories of him were both overwhelming and heartwarming at the same time.  I was so very, very fortunate to have such a great father.  There's something to be said for the fact that I can't recall any unhappy memories of him.  Not a single one.  In all of our years together, we never had an argument of any type.  I can't remember a  time in my life that my father ever raised his voice to me or spoke to me in an unkind way.  I doubt there are very many people who can say that about their relationship with a parent.

I have nothing but pleasant and fun things to remember about growing up with the Dad that I had.  All of my childhood memories of him involve the two of us doing things together.  I think I was pretty much his second shadow (when I wasn't trailing after my older sister), but if he ever found that annoying he certainly never let on.  Any time Dad was working on whatever old beater of a car he had at the time, I'd be right beside him holding a wrench or some other kind of tool, likely asking a million irritating questions.  If he was working in the yard or on a project, I was there too.  I probably wasn't a whole lot of help to him, but wherever he was is where I wanted to be.  Some of that stuff with the tools must have stayed somewhere in the back of my mind, and it's starting to finally pay off.  He'd get a real kick now out of watching me try to do things the way I remember him doing them all those years ago.  Dad was meticulous about his tools and taking care of what he had.  I've discovered that I'm the same way with my own tools, even though up until the past year the only tool I owned was a craft knife. 

My father spent years trying to get me to enjoy active living, and when I was little, I would join him in pretty much any activity he came up with.  We used to go snowshoeing in the woods behind our house in the winter, and he even found me a pair of snowshoes that were exactly like his.  I had my own cross-country skis when I was six, and I remember spending hours skiing on trails, enjoying the scenery and each others company.  He desperately tried to teach me to skate on the lake down the road from us, but much like my dancing skills, I could only skate with my left foot for some reason.  And my feet would get cold very early into it.  Dad's "remedy" for cold feet was to take my skates off of me and stick my sock-clad feet into his armpits to warm them up.  Sounds disgusting now, but back then it seemed like a neat enough trick.

Summertime activities didn't seem to be my "thing" either, but Dad patiently kept on trying with me.  My sister was more of a "summertime" girl than I ever was.  Dad's aunt and uncle had farmland in Cape Breton, and my sister absolutely loved every bit of the farm.  Not so with me, although I'm sure that most of you who know me would be SO surprised at that.  I've heard that my sister would get right in there to milk the cows and feed the chickens etc., when she was young.  All I remember about those visits was that I wouldn't even get out of the car without holding my nose, which thoroughly embarrassed my mother (who I might add, only refrained from mimicking my actions because it would be deemed impolite).  I was afraid of the chickens, couldn't stand the smell of the manure in the fields and wouldn't be caught dead picking a cucumber or carrot if my last meal depended on it.  Dad accepted this side of me, and never once tried to force me to join into the farm stuff or made any type of remark regarding my distaste for everything farm related.

I can't count how many summers the poor man tried to teach me how to swim, but by the time I turned ten he admitted defeat and advised me to always have a life jacket handy.  Camping was another failed activity and I know that I spent the majority of those few trips complaining and whining.  I think my father must have had the patience of a saint to endure those short trips.  To this day my idea of camping is in a three star hotel, but I have to give him credit for trying.  I always appreciated the fact that Dad never got disappointed with my lack of enthusiasm or skill with some of what he tried to teach me.  He was very much a "to each his own" person, and I'm grateful that at least I came a way with a little of his outlook, if not his love of camping.

When I entered the teen years, my father certainly had his hands full with me.  I shudder now when I think of all of the really stupid things that I did, and the amount of worry and distress that I must have caused him.  Dad's way of handling my rebellious years was to more or less kill me with kindness.  The first time I became ill from drinking too much cheap red wine was one I'll never forget.  When I finally emerged from my bedroom the next morning, Dad very sweetly (and softly) asked if there was anything at all that he could get for me.  Some dry toast, black coffee, aspirin perhaps?  A pillow?  I would have rather been yelled at, or grounded or thrown out on the street.  Anything but the kindness.  That gave me more of a guilt trip than any amount of admonishment could ever have.  I'm pretty sure he knew all along what he was doing.

As daughters frequently do, I moved in and out of my parents home far more times than should have been allowed.  However, each time, Dad faithfully helped load and unload boxes and furniture without complaint.  He never showed the exasperation that he surely felt whenever I'd announce that I'd found "the perfect place". He also never said a word or got mad at me when I'd call to say that the "perfect place/roommate or boyfriend" wasn't working out.  This undoubtedly meant I'd be moving home again, and I wonder if he didn't keep a roll of packing tape in his back pocket for several years running.  The only hint he ever gave that my comings and goings were a bit much was when he was walking me down the aisle.  As we approached my soon to be husband, Dad leaned in and whispered "Are you sure this is what you really want?  Because I'm not moving your furniture again."

When I announced that I was expecting his first grandchild, my father was absolutely over the moon.  Especially since my due date was on his birthday - didn't end up that way, but he thought that was so very cool.  He insisted that he be the one to buy my daughter's crib and he was so thrilled to go "baby furniture" shopping with me.  I remember we had such a wonderful day together.  When Mothers Day came and I was still in the fairly early stages of pregnancy, Dad showed up at my door with a dozen red roses and a handwritten "Happy Mothers Day to Be" card.  When Emily was born, he was the first visitor to see her.  I'm pretty sure he slept out in the hospital parking lot, just waiting to get the all clear signal. 

Those are the kinds of memories I will always have of my Dad.  All of the gentleness, the kindness and the little things he did for the people he loved.  He can't be here with me physically tomorrow, but he'll always be with me in my heart.  Dad - I hope you're dancing in the sky.  Love you to the moon and back.

 

June Jabberings

Well, it's finally June, hopefully a more reasonable month than May was.  I really don't want to repeat a month like that. I would rather have my toenails pulled out slowly by a three headed troll.

Last month brought more turmoil than was necessary, or expected.  Although I usually pride myself on being able to draw strength and patience when I need to, my reserves were getting a bit stretched by the end of the month.

The patience I rely on went on vacation in May.  Too bad it didn't take me along.  I think it hooked up with my strength and optimism halfway through too. I hope they all had a good time without me, because I'm calling them back home now.  Party's over guys. Time to get back to work.

The biggest catalyst to what shall now be known as Miserable May, was my beloved daughter, who for various reasons, decided at Easter that she would rather live with her father for a while.  One would think that being all alone for the better part of six weeks would free up my time.  Not so.  She required more effort and emotional energy from a distance than she ever did before.  Add in the sudden teenage rebellion, and it made parenting triplets seem like a walk in the park.  Although it was to hard to watch someone I love so much make so many bad choices in a "go big or go home" way, it was necessary for me to let her make them.  All I can do is hope she learns from it and moves through this stage quickly (before it kills me). She came back yesterday, toting all of her stuff, along with what appears to be some sort of deadly plague that she will no doubt share with me.  I give it a week tops before she goes back with her dad and leaves me with her germs.

Due to the six week custody switch, I had to spend more time with her father than was normal for a separated couple.  Although we have a pretty decent relationship, that can get weird after a bit.  I'm no longer used to being asked where I'm going, who I'm texting, when I'll be home etc.  Now, in all fairness, it was for the sake of co-parenting and coordinating chauffeuring duties and the like, but it was starting to feel like being married again.  I was beginning to get cranky and annoyed, which tells me that I should stay single.  Forever. I'm more suited to a relationship with myself, or maybe a goldfish.

Another thing hampered last month was my ability to sleep.  I've been running on three to four hours a night for weeks, and it's starting to show.  My house is a disorganised mess, as is my hair most days; my car looks like I've been living in it, and my relationships with a few people I cherish have suffered greatly due to a lack of energy on my part.  I swear I can hear my bed mocking me when I approach it at night.  Sometimes the pillows chime in as well - "oh look, here she comes thinking she's going to sleep tonite, bless her heart".   At least the couch hasn't caught on yet.

Normally, I'm all over things that need to be done and can manage to keep the balls juggling in the air.  Not last month.  Instead, I found most of my time last month was spent picking up all the balls that I dropped.  There has been no time to deal with the non-urgent issues like the broken toilet, car repair, ever-leaking basement door, etc.   I can't even remember the last time I picked up more than the bare essentials at the grocery store, filled the gas tank before the warning light came on, or arrived at work on time in the morning. Never mind the running and sketching hobbies that I was trying to keep up with, but only managed once or twice.  Stolen couch naps when the opportunity arose won out over all of that.  I'm so glad that the couch accepts me, even if it is only for short periods of time.

When I did have a little time to myself and enough energy last month, I found that I really wanted to get out with people.  Very unlike me, being an introvert at heart, but a necessary diversion from the unnecessary daily life-sucking evils that kept cropping up.  Besides, it gave the impression that all was right in my world, thus giving me a break from having to explain my weirdness.  Nobody needed to be sucked into that quagmire, and misery really doesn't love company as it turns out.

I did enjoy the times I got to spend with my girlfriends over the last six weeks though.  I've gotten a lot of driving experience in places I was always hesitant to go to, unless as a passenger.  I've tried out a bunch of restaurants that I hadn't been to before (and gained a few pounds in the process), discovered some really neat little shops in obscure places, relaxed in a friends hot tub, took a few dance lessons and went on my first ever pub crawl.

The dance lessons didn't go well (refer to the sentence on introversion above), but the rest was fun and allowed me to recharge my batteries a little.  Well, maybe not the pub crawl.  Or at least the pub crawl hangover.  Lesson learned the hard way.

In any case, now that June has arrived, it feels like I should get this show back under control.  That's very important to a self-admitted control freak.  Maybe my next tattoo will just say "Control Freak".  Or "Freak Show", since most of the time that's the best way to describe my life.  As freaky as it is though, I know I wouldn't change it.  I'd lose too many of the good things and people that I have, even though I'm sometimes guilty of forgetting that.

So, bring it on June.  I'll even take your June bugs with pleasure.  And that says a lot about Miserable May.

Mother's Day Musings

To my daughter.

 I just dropped you off at your friends house.  When I watched you get out of the car with all of the grace and beauty of a young woman, my heart stopped a little with the realization that my little girl is now almost grown up.  In less than a year, you'll be driving a car (hopefully not mine) and bringing home your own pay cheque.  It really seems like yesterday that you so very excitedly gave me a plunger, pink plastic barrettes and a Barbie doll for Mothers' Day.  To this day I can't figure out the symbolism of the plunger, but you were so proud of yourself for making Daddy let you pick everything out on your own, that I still grin each time I have to pick up a plunger. Which is more often than I'd like to, since you keep forgetting we don't have a garbage disposal system.

When I think back on all of the years that you celebrated Mothers Day with me, I can't help but be so very grateful that I was blessed with you.  For many years I couldn't imagine a life with a child in it, but now I can't imagine a life without you.  I was the least likely candidate for motherhood (ask anyone who knew me back then), but from the moment I first held you, I knew what my true purpose in life was.  You gave me a reason to be, and still do, every single day.

As most mothers and daughters do, we have our ugly moments. We've had the raised voices, Mexican stand-offs, slammed doors and more recently, swearing competitions (which I will ALWAYS win).  We'll probably always have our disagreements, because we're two very different people and both entitled to our own thoughts and opinions.  I will always be annoyed with you for stretching my shoes, "borrowing" my clothes and leaving dirty dishes on the counter.  You will always be annoyed with me for being "weird", putting your things where you can't find them, and asking too many questions. Thankfully, we usually manage to forgive each other.  You finally forgave me for the "marshmallow farm" incident, and I have finally forgotten about the blue food coloring incident.  That's what mothers and daughters do.

Something else that mothers often do is give advice. I'm not great at advice, and I usually get it wrong, but there are a few things I would like you to try to remember as you grow up.  The most important one is to be responsible for your own happiness.  Don't depend on anyone else to make you happy - this is a surefire way to be disappointed.  And don't ever try to be responsible for the happiness of anyone else - that's impossible to do and far too much pressure to place on yourself.   Next, be independent but accept help when you need it.  Don't be afraid to ask for help, you'll be surprised at how many people just might be willing to lend you a hand.  Always let those you care about know how you feel, don't wait until you're at a point when your mind says "I wish I'd told **** how much I ****".    When you fall in love (which you will, several times), don't love with all of your heart - save a little of it for yourself.  Give other people a chance, but not so many that you become a doormat. When you get your heart broken, wallow for only a short time, then pick yourself up, hold your head high and move along. Never stay stuck with someone you don't belong with - if you're not happy, it's not meant to be.  Don't stay somewhere because you're afraid to leave, and remember that "reasons to stay" are only excuses not to leave.  When you make a mistake (again, you will do this many times), learn from it and do things differently the next time around. Finally, do what you love to do and never let anyone tell you that you can't. 

You have asked me for "hints" as to what I would like for Mothers' Day.  I already have the best gift of all, I have you.  Love you to the moon and back Em, always.

Just Watch Me

When my ex-spouse just came to pick up our daughter, I suddenly realized that it was one year ago today that I picked up the keys to my new home and began the task of building a new life. So very much has changed since then, yet it still doesn't really feel like it's been an entire year since I moved out.

I remember every detail of that day and every emotion that I felt.  I recall the day starting out rather emotionally, with the somber realization that once I walked out the door of my marital home for the last time, I would be saying goodbye to the relationship that I had with someone whom I had spent the majority of my life with.  As I packed my car with boxes and made several trips back and forth between houses, it seemed like every trip out of that driveway got a bit sadder.  However, when the moving truck met me at my new home later in the day with all of the bigger items, the sadness gave way to excitement.  It was starting to feel good at that point, and it was especially gratifying to a control freak such as myself to be making all of the decisions on my own for once in my life.

Halfway through the unloading of the truck though, my daughter and I saw "the chair".  This disastrous piece of furniture was the ugliest thing that had graced my old home and I had in no uncertain terms made it clear that it wasn't coming with me.  Imagine my surprise to see that thing being carried out of the back of the moving van.  I broke speed records getting out the front door and putting a halt to all activity by the movers. It was then that the guys informed me that my "husband" had told them to put it on the truck, along with a dresser I didn't want, a water cooler that wasn't coming with me and a couple of other pieces that I had deemed unworthy to cross the threshold of "MY" house.  Thus ended any of the sadness that I had felt earlier in the day. In the end, I managed to offload a couple of the pieces to the movers and threw the rest under the back stairs until I could either get a burn permit or a gypsy to get rid of it.

I was really getting into things when the furniture delivery guys came with my new dining room set.  I couldn't wait to see it all set up. My excitement turned to near hysteria though when the delivery men brought in the huge and heavy box, set it down in the dining room and then proceeded to leave.  I figured they were going out to the truck to get their tools so that they could get this thing assembled for me.  Apparently that one particular store doesn't "assemble" anything.  Ever.  Not even for a fee.  I tried to explain to them that the only furniture I'd ever put together in my life belonged to Barbie and Ken, but

 to no avail.  Tears didn't work either.  Needless to say, I got my first taste of what being a single female homeowner really meant.  The table assembly actually went well, and the chair leg attachments seemed okay too, until I realized that I had the front and back legs mixed up on all four chairs.  I rectified that situation, but for some reason, no one else was willing to sit down on the chairs until they flipped them over to see whether it was safe or not.  People can have such a lack of faith sometimes.

During those first few weeks, I discovered broken closet hinges/lack of water pressure/tree branches that hit the cable and power lines/a leaking basement doorway and a perpetually barking dog somewhere on the street.  The hinges were fixed with the help of YouTube, the water pressure solved by the removal of a tree and many dollars later.  The tree branches were cut down by my ex-spouse in exchange for the use of my car (I've become very good at bartering) and the leaking door was solved with a bit of caulking.  To clear up any misconception regarding the caulking, yes I fixed it myself.  The only problem I had was figuring out how to get the caulking gun to work.  When I finallt related it to how an icing decorating tool works, it all made sense to me (go ahead - roll your eyes, but the door doesn't leak anymore).  Sadly, the one thing I can't fix is the barking dog.  Not legally anyway.

If anyone had told me a few years ago that I would enjoy shopping at hardware stores collecting tools, I probably would have backed away slowly from them and assumed that they were off their medications.  I spent most of my life avoiding hardware stores unless I needed lightbulbs or something similar.  If they'd said that I would become proficient at using a power drill, I would have looked around to see who they were talking about, because they certainly couldn't have meant ME. I wouldn't have believed it if anyone had said I'd actually enjoy lawn mowing - the closest I'd come to a lawnmower was when I had to move it out of my way to get to something else in the shed.  And I most definitely would not have believed it if I'd been told that my ex and I would ever forge any type of amicable friendship and become better co-parents than we ever were as spouses. Yet, all of this has happened and what I now can't believe is that I ever doubted that I could do any of it in the first place.

In the first few months of last year, my daughter would run for cover when she saw me coming with the toolbox or dragging out the lawnmower. My ex would take it upon himself to scoff at the idea of me painting a deck or digging up trees.  They don't do that anymore.  We've come a long way from the day when I spent an hour trying to replace an outdoor dryer flap, only to finish it and realize that I put it on upside down.  Same with the garden hose hanger.  And the filing cabinet drawer handles.  When my daughter doubted my abilities in the beginning, my response to her telling me that I'd never be able to do it myself and maybe we should call someone, was always "just watch me".  I may not have always done things right the first time, or the way others would have liked me to, but things always got done securely in the end and always "my" way.  My goal wasn't solely to get the job done, but to also show my daughter that just because you've never done something before doesn't mean that you shouldn't try.

This past year has been a definite learning curve for both of us, but except for snow shoveling, I've discovered that I actually enjoy painting, fixing things, lawn mowing etc.  My daughter enjoys decorating her bedroom (over and over) and her favorite thing to do is to keep changing her mind on paint color.  I like learning how to improve on what is already in the house, but I draw the line at re-painting the same room in less than a year.  Next week I will be "instructing" the painting and hopefully hear "just watch me" coming from my daughter's mouth.

We have had many challenges getting to where we are, but life is all about challenges and how we handle them. For the most part, I believe that she and I have handled things quite nicely as far as getting used to a new house goes. There are still other challenges being dealt with, but at least now we have the time to take it one challenge at a time and work through things together in our cozy little house. I hope that all of this has shown my daughter to not be afraid to change what doesn't work, and that if others doubt her ability to listen to her inner "just watch me" voice.

Endings and Beginnings

On New Year's Day my father lost his long battle with Alzheimer's.  It was a very peaceful passing, and his wife, myself and my sister were by his side.  He will no longer have to suffer the indignities of this cruel disease, or struggle to communicate with only his eyes and hands.  There will be no more hospital stays, no more sudden infections and fevers.  No more sitting day after day in the same spot, unable to move on his own.  I am very grateful for that, for his sake, even though I am deeply saddened at the loss of one of the most important people in my life.

I will miss the hugs that Dad gave freely and frequently.  Even when he could no longer walk or speak, he could still give a hug that was strong, tight, and full of love.  I've always felt that those were the best kind of hugs ever, and can only hope that the hugs I give to others can provide the same wonderful feeling as the ones I received from my father for so many years. I will miss the kisses that he'd pucker up for, and the hand holding that he so loved to do. Affection was the only thing that Dad managed to keep within him, the disease took the rest.

It is very ironic that my father's life ended within the first hours of the new year.  This is the one day of the year that normally brings the hope of new beginnings rather than endings, yet in some way it  makes perfect sense.  The first day of 2014 was the last day I will ever have to worry about my father.  I can now go to sleep at night without the guilt of not being able to visit him more often due to the demands of other aspects of my life. I can now see his wife's phone number show up and not immediately panic that he is sick again.  I won't be worrying after each visit if it was the last time I would see him.

Instead, I can begin to remember the man that he was without seeing the man that he became over the last few years. I can begin to look at photos of him now without sorrow and regret for all that Alzheimer's took from him.  I can start to remember all of the great conversations I'd had with him, instead of trying to have a one-sided one, and ending up feeling miserable because I never knew how much of what I said to him was understood.

In the short two weeks since his death, I've ridden a roller coaster of emotions, yet have somehow ended up with a sense of peace that has taken me by surprise.  Last week was the first time that I celebrated a birthday without my father in my life, and although I thought about him quite a bit that day, it wasn't the sad experience that I had expected it to be. Things were different this year because I knew he had been taken from me completely, instead of in bits and pieces.  I spent most of that day surrounded by very special people before heading off to get an  infinity heart tattoo to represent my love for my father and everyone else whom I hold close to my heart.  I'm not sure whether he would have approved of the ink (actually,  during the entire process I was envisioning the look that he would have given me), but at the very least, I know that he would have been proud of me for not passing out from the pain of the needle and for not hurting the tattoo artist.

I have never forgotten the song that my father and I danced to when I got married, yet I hadn't heard it in a great many years. My practical mind doesn't allow me to believe in the afterlife very much, but in the last two weeks I have twice heard that song played while I was thinking about what I'd most like to begin in 2014. I've always believed that with every ending comes a new beginning, and hearing that song while thinking of new beginnings led me to believe that my thought is on the right track. So, thanks Dad.  I'll take that little sign and I will turn this ending into some wonderful new beginnings, I promise.