Wednesday, February 6, 2019


One year ago. February 6th, 2018. The longest, worst day of my life. There's so much about that day I don't remember and yet other moments vividly intrude my consciousness as if they were happening right now.  I hope that at some point, the memories will become more controllable. I doubt that they will.

I hate that when I think of my dad, the memory is colored with that day. I hate that every memory contains an "and then..." My dad was so much more than one day. He gave a speech at my wedding that brought the room to tears (of course).  In it, he talked about how life is made up of moments. Moments that feel big while they're happening, and moments that you don't realize were monumental until afterwards. I feel like that's my dad. He was always orchestrating "Moments." So much so that we joked about how he had a script and the rest of our jobs was to figure out what it was. God, I'm so grateful for that now. Because of him, our family has all of these amazing memories together, doing things we'd never consider doing without him. But it wasn't just the capital M Moments. Life with my dad was also full of moments that you didn't know were happening. A lunch that stretched out for hours as we talked over dessert. A hike that ended with everyone hot, dirty, and sore from laughing so hard. A health and fitness fanatic breaking out a bottle of tequila and a stash of chocolate chip cookies. Always with the cookies. He loved people, and he especially loved his people.

These are the last pictures I have of my dad. He planned a trip for all of us to spend the weekend in San Francisco at a ridiculous hotel downtown right after Christmas. My poor dad was always trying to take us places that were FAR classier than we were (as noted in maybe the most perfect group selfie ever.) I always felt like he was simultaneously horrified and a teensy bit proud of our ridiculousness.

My dad wanted to take everyone to see the San Francisco Maritime National Park. Of course, because that's how these adventures with him went, and because my dad made friends everywhere he went, we ended up getting offered a free, private tour of the entire place, including ships that weren't  even open to the public. It was amazing and such a fun, unique experience for all of us. A Moment.

And then later that day, this moment. Nothing ground breaking, just a grandpa and a grandson having deep conversation while they wait for their burritos. But I am so grateful that I thought to take a picture. 

This is my dad. Big Moments and small moments. I am eternally grateful that we have so many amazing memories together, and it breaks my heart that that's what we have left. 


  1. Absolutely heartbreaking. I can't believe it's been a year. Sending many hugs and thoughts your way.

  2. Wow, thank you for sharing this. <3
    I can't guess how long and fast this year has gone for you.
    I can't WAIT to see you!!

  3. My dad committed suicide on February 10, 22 years ago. Anniversaries are always hard; but sometimes the forced moment to remember unearths good stuff too. I love your posts and honesty. ❤️

  4. This was gorgeous and I've been thinking about it since you wrote and am annoyed with myself every night that I haven't commented. A life full of moments you didn't know were happening is what I aspire to have and to share with those i love. Your dad sounds absolutely wonderful, and not just because tequila and cookies are two of my very favorite things. Hugs and thoughts and love to you.