My father in law passed away on Christmas Eve, 2014, succumbing to complications from his illness after a long, hard battle. We were there to say goodbye, and there to lay him to rest.
Filed away on this laptop, there is a long and detailed post about his final days and hours. It tells of all the sadness, the tears, and the grief. It also tells of the abundant love showered on and around our family in the days that followed. I talked a little about my husband and his incredible strength, continuing to support me and take care of me, even when his world was falling down. I am always proud to be married to that man, but that week in particular, I got to see the kind of strength and grace he possesses. It was, is, and will always be my honor to be his wife.
I thought about sharing a little more about that week here. In general, I do want to become a little more transparent in my writing. Accomplishing this was much easier when I was twenty-two, and had much less shame in regards to sharing my many exploits. My experiences felt proprietary then—they were mine and mine alone, and the people (well, men) involved in them were typically inconsequential, or deserving of a good public airing of grievances against them. At 29, life is a little different. I’ve also chosen to make my blog accessible to people like my mom. And grandmother. I’ve hitched my wagon to this man, and my life is now his too. There is much more to consider now in regards to what information is really mine to share. That said, I have always felt that my best writing (anyone’s best writing) is done without regard to personal privacy or potential embarrassment. Going forward, and with blessings from any real life loved ones featured in my posts, I plan to be much more vulnerable.
In this case, though, the vulnerability I’d be volunteering isn’t necessarily mine, so I will simply say that we miss him. We missed him on Father’ s Day, and on his birthday. Sometimes we miss him just because it’s Thursday. As the days tick down to our little one’s arrival, we miss him. As every “first” in our first full year without him comes and goes, we miss him. We’ll miss him as his grandbabies grow, as life changes and as life stays the same.
Rest in Peace, Dad. We’ll see you when we get there.