|My dad hugging me on my wedding day.|
Oh, how I wish you were around to enjoy it, to give us all bear hugs and beard-burn, tell a few bad puns, and overindulge in chocolate birthday cake. I've already eulogized you (more than once), so I won't dwell on my grief, except to mention that I think of you every day.
I'm writing to fill you in on how my life has continued since your heart failed, though I firmly believe you've been watching over me.
The year after your death was dark. You died, I finished my teaching placement, I graduated from Queen's, my second child was born -- all within about six weeks. I sank under the weight of it all, but made it through.
Mom remarried, and I was glad she had found love again. It wasn't until I realized the unfathomable choice she had made that things fell apart for me. Again, I made it through, this time with the help of antidepressants. (I sure wish they'd had antidepressants this effective when Mom was younger.) But without you there to be a bridge between us, our relationship has remained cool.
|Sir Stephen, by Laurel Martin|
|Emily, Peter, Katharine, and Brian in 2012|
I hope you would like how we're raising them. I use the present tense because they're not fully cooked yet. I don't know how you and Mom did it. I know there were challenges -- not just periodic unemployment and financial stress, but troublesome teens and moody daughters (hi!).
Thank you for modeling how to read character in a person. Thank you for showing me the value of hard work and of kindness. Thank you for all the affection you gave me, your love-hungry Nanny-cat. Enough to last a lifetime.
I love you.