My first thought was to title this post, “Life, loss and the ever-enduring pursuit of happiness.” It sounded good, to start with, but I gave it a bit more thought and decided to be a little more honest about my intent for this post and go all out with the final title.

The first title did cover all the bases I wanted to cover, but it didn’t feel true and genuine. It really wasn’t indicative of the true reason for sharing this today. So, on to option 2, a new title, and a post that I hope will give you a little more insight into why I share this blog with you.

In previous posts, I alluded to my own personal losses over the past few years. There were two, in particular, that caused me great struggle and continue to do so. The loss of my Dad was my first major loss, at least during the COVID pandemic. The second was the loss of my “forever” person, Adam. I’ll share more about Adam in a future post.

About my Dad. My dad was ill for a short time, after having overcome cancer a few years earlier. His final visit with our Oncologist was numbing. The cancer had returned, and we had few options due to its’ severity. With only months left, he decided we would press forward and try to buy a little more time to allow him to do a little proverbial “housekeeping.” That’s what we did. We began some end-of-life planning, reconciled with a few interpersonal life struggles, shared old stories, saw the important people in his life, and made the best of each day. In the end, we had only about one month and then he was gone. For the record, cancer sucks…

To truly know my dad, was to love him. My Dad was a great Father and Husband. He was a hard worker, nurturing, present in my life as well as that of my sister, and often gave me advice in the way only a child of the 40s and 50s generation could. He and my Mom were married for 53 years. Of those years, most were happy, some not, but during all those years he was committed. My Dad exposed our family to travels across the world and he opened pathways to life experiences many may never have. He insisted that my Sister and I be employed, when we came of age, and made certain we were able to support ourselves without the need to lean into anyone for financial support. He helped us grow strong and made sure we could make decisions that would benefit us in the future. He never allowed us to live in a “Fairytale” world. He was honest and real and always willing to sew a little love into those he loved. He loved to fish and watched almost every Alabama Crimson Tide Football game ever played. His oldest and dearest friend and he met when they were 2 years old, and they remained close for almost 75 years. He was a cuddly old Gentleman that loved animals and little people, and THEY loved him. He loved to cook. He referred to many of his friends as a “Good Old Boy.” If you ever knew him then you knew that this title was reserved for only the finest Southern Gentleman. He was a Good Old Boy too. He never had true Grandchildren, but he chose young ones to call his own. Most were Great Nieces and Great Nephews, and some were even their children. They called him “Pug.” He loved that…

Professionally, he served in the United States military and saw the world from the deck of a really big ship while sailing the Mediterranean Sea and Atlantic Ocean. He worked in Aviation and excelled in many jobs working with rotary wing and fixed wing aircraft. He was well respected and knew his industry. His people loved him from conversations I had with them. No doubt, they felt a profound loss with his passing.

For me and my family, losing him was horrible. We continue to struggle today. On a personal level, he and I knew we had precious little time left and we learned to know and love each other in a more mature and kinder way. I saw him as a parent and a friend in those last days. I’m grateful we had that time. I miss him deeply every day. I wish I could have one more day with him. My heart aches for this loss.

Coming to grip with the loss of a parent takes time and patience sprinkled with a good amount of understanding and support from those around you. My struggles are probably no different than many or perhaps most others. The difference is that this was MY loss. It hits harder and deeper when you experience the loss on an intimate level. But that IS Life. So, onward I go. Learning to ask myself, “What would dad do?” often, and learning to share his story whenever I can, has become a regular thing for me. I’m no longer afraid to say his name for fear that it may upset someone. I use his recipes and often make a special point to use his words or verbal intonation with some phrases just to keep him in the conversation. It keeps his spirit alive in me and allows me to celebrate the Great dad he was. Most people say that I will heal and that it will be better ONE DAY. I know this is true, but it still hurts today.

I am surrounded by Family and Friends that know and understand my struggles. Most of them have experienced loss just like mine. They continue to listen and support to me and often share their own experiences with me to validate my experiences and aide me in my journey. They remain a part of my TRIBE., While most will fade away as time moves one, my TRIBE is still here. Doing their best to keep me sane and reasonably centered. I appreciate them more than may ever know.

So, this is one of the most significant challenges I have ever been forced to work through. There have been days that I felt would never end. Days that I wished had never happened, and days that I wish I could re-live. But the days did come. Sharing this, my most intimate thoughts, is cathartic for me. I hope my thoughts and experiences resonate in your life, especially if you ever experienced a loss as profound as my own. If you have not experienced a loss of this magnitude, please sew a little love into those around you that have. They need you to be present and, in the moment, as they process and grow through their own grief.

If you struggle with the loss of a loved one, please seek professional help. Remember to be kind to yourself. Love yourself and hold on tight to the memory of the ones you lost. Even though they aren’t with you today, you carry a piece of them with you every day. Remember that. Love you.