Nick, I adore you and am beyond grateful for all you do as father to our son.
Recently I pulled out photographs to remember my father on Father’s Day. Brought back fond memories and tears. Good tears. Tears of love, tears of gratitude that he had been my father and grandfather to my son. My dad was a loving and involved father and grandfather. He loved us deeply. He loved us well.
Those photos reminded me of how lucky I am to have my husband by my side. He’s a loving father and devoted husband. Since my pregnancy, he’s been a hands-on father — affectionate and involved. He adores his son. He even flexed his working hours so that I could go back to work when our son was an infant.
Thank you, Dad. I love and miss you.
Thank you, Nick. I love you.
I love you both to the moon and back, to infinity and beyond.
Yesterday I took my mom out for a late lunch at a local diner. She enjoyed the outing. She likes going out of her memory care community with me.
Before I visited my mom, I saw my psychologist who suggested I do less and allow myself to grieve. I’ve been too defended, using busyness to keep my feelings at bay.
Today I listen to straight ahead jazz in memory of my father. He passed on his passion for jazz to me. Listening, I allow myself to cry. I miss sharing this love of jazz music with my dad. He lives on in so many ways. He lives on in my love for jazz, true American classical music.
Tomorrow we will remember my dad in a small get-together of close family. We will listen to jazz, as we share photos and memories of him.
My parents had requested that we keep their memorials small, inviting only close family members. We are honoring that request. Fits our emotional needs, too. We can only handle so much right now.