Looks like it's been 4 years since I last posted a blog. I'm probably as good at storytelling or remembering. I feel a lot older than I did in 2022. Four years feels like forever.
There's a common phrase people throw around in relation to parenting, hard times, or even good times. "Nothing lasts forever." People often say it so flippantly, like they are shrugging their shoulders in a 'wattado' kind of way.
The older I get, the more I see that some things really don't last forever.
My babies aren't my babies. They don't snuggle up to me for a story or a cuddle. They don't demand fifteen hugs at bedtime, count ants on the ground, or go down the little slide a million times before scraping their knee when they tripped on a rock.
Financial instability isn't forever. When Dave and I were first married, I made $12/hr and he made only a little bit more. We could BARELY afford to live and then we had a baby-a baby that needed sensitive formula. There were times we had to put things back when we found out the total at the grocery store. We had to live with my parents for a few months. We are lucky/blessed (whatever you want to put the blame on) that we both have degrees and good work ethic. We don't have to put things back anymore.
Physical and mental health never stay stagnant. Everyone knows you will get the common cold or pull a muscle in a workout. Depression or anxiety are experienced throughout the year in waves. I'm convinced that everyone faces this in some ways or another. I'm sure there's anxiety when a car in front of you brakes too fast. Or depression when you hear a sad song on the radio.
Throughout all these temporary parts of life, I'm learning one thing is eternal and it is something that will sit within you throughout your whole life (probably): Grief.
Just a minute ago, I was flipping through reels on IG. There's a funny cat video, scroll, there's a fitness influencer talking about exercises, flip, war news, FLIP. Then this one video hits me like a ton of bricks: a dad content creator, pretending to be dead in a video game until a song comes on, and he gets up and starts dancing along. This song: I2I from A Goofy Movie. My heart hits my throat as I picture Goofy and immediately my dad's face.
My dad was like my personal, live-in Goofy. I don't know if I ever heard him say no to anything if it was ridiculous or fun. He loved really dumb, cheesy stuff, and would love to tell you all about some crazy science fact he read about--for the next two hours.
He's been gone for around 12ish years and that grief still hits like a ton of bricks. This world right now is so scary and hard. I would sell everything I owned to hug him again. The peace he carried around him and his calm, confidence has always been my voice of reason. He could talk anyone off a cliff figuratively (and probably literally too).
My kids have never and will never know him on this Earth. I can tell them all the stories I know and share every single picture of his smiling face, but it won't be the same. They won't feel the loss either though.
For me (and I assume others who knew my dad), we'll still feel that grief. If I can sit here and sob like it happened yesterday even though it's been 12 years, there's a good chance I will still feel that way in 20 years or 50 years. I was so lucky to have him as my dad. I don't have him in person, but I have a Goofy Movie and the songs to remind me of him.
