The Chair

I wrote recently on Facebook:

This is what grief looks like. Even though it’s been my computer in the office, I was using Dad’s chair. It had been getting on in years for a while - even before he died.  After he died, the leather began peeling more, and it started falling apart. The right arm became unhinged one Saturday morning. Still, it was a connection to my Dad, and part of me thought, he is going to kill me for touching stuff in his office! 

This extended to the chair - After someone you love dies, you will grab onto, and keep your hands on, anything you can get of theirs. I have needed to replace the chair for a while, and we’ve been looking for a few weekends, but never found the perfect fit. It was time. I was ready. Today, we hit a couple more stores, found it, bought it and 30 minutes later it’s in its new home. Wheeling the old chair out, I felt a certain measure of peace. I think Dad would approve. What’s he gonna do, ground me??

Recently, I've had a set of dreams that have led me to believe that either Dad is trying to transcend to his next level of afterlife, or that he needs my help to move him and he wants me to move myself along too. Dreams where he is in his car needing help, where we are at a car dealership buying a new car for him, and the latest one where he is helping me to setup a new apartment I have moved into and he brought me a red alarm clock, as if to say WAKE UP! I AM STILL WITH YOU even if you are someplace new. Very interesting and comforting dreams, indeed.

There are some movies that just speak to your soul, and yesterday we saw one of them. The last time I felt this strongly about a movie, I had seen "The Shack" and "Collateral Beauty" in the year before Dad died while he was really struggling and I felt those movies were helping me to prepare for what I knew lie ahead.

This time, the movie was "Faith, Hope, and Love" and the description sounded good:
"a heartwarming romantic comedy about two vulnerable, lost souls who have each suffered deep losses and have their guards up as a result.  When they enter a dance contest, and become partners, they begin to discover new perspectives on life, love, and faith"

Yes, I cried, but happy and good tears, not uncontrollable sobbing. I related to the themes and emotions expressed in the movie. Wife, Husband, and 2 young daughters, The wife died about 2 years ago and Dad is having trouble moving forward. The wife had written a letter to her husband "in case of my death" which he struggles as to whether or not to read throughout the movie....It hit really close to home - My guard is definitely up as a result of my Dad's death. 

He meets the dance partner who has her own struggles with loss and learning to love again.

The movie just spoke to me..It was one of those, like The Shack and Collateral Beauty, that I felt destined to see, that I felt was delivering some messages I needed to hear. In this case, the movie was my teacher:

It's ok to move forward. 
It's ok to be happy again.  
It's ok not to let grief be the foremost thought.
It's ok to let some things go.

If I wasn't convinced enough that the movie was a sign for me..We went to Cost Plus World Market after dinner looking for something, where this book (a blank journal) on display captured my attention.

Buying the new chair and throwing the old chair out without looking back or feeling guilt was a large step for me.

It was a measure of Faith, of Hope, and of Love.

More large steps to come.

PS: Running errands the day after I posted this...another Faith Hope Love appeared in my path when I returned to the car after stopping for lunch.

 





 

The Magical Vortexes of Sedona

Once again, fate, the universe, whatever you believe in or call it, showed me that sometimes you just have to let things happen and you can't plan it all - much as I try to.  I will probably always struggle with this  - but it makes me ME.

ANYHOW, Mom and I decided  we wanted to drive to Sedona for the day yesterday to get out of the heat. The forecast said 94 degrees which sounded heavenly. However, by the time we got up it there it was 103! So much for getting out of the heat..But compared to the 117 I saw on the way up, I guess technically it was "cooler" and it did not feel as oppressive.

We got a late start - Originally we planned to leave around 930a and just it was around 1145a when we left home. I had to smile because my Dad would probably have had a fit, but I a wise friend gave me some advice, to ask myself "In 100 Years, will it matter?" and the answer is a resounding NO. Sedona will still be there at 930a just as much as it will be at 12n. Had we left at the original, planned time - we most likely would not have been in Sedona at dinnertime and found the gem we stumbled on (more of that below).

Mom and I debated on whether or not to go and I figured it was still enough time for us to schmooze around and have a nice day. So off we went. The only way to get to Sedona is to go up I-17, and the only highway I hate more than I-10 is I-17, but it is what it is. We got stuck in I-17 traffic for about 30 miles for no reason - no accident, no broken down car. My suspicion is a slow moving truck that slowed everything down behind it.

We arrived in Sedona around 230pm, and stopped at each of the vistas/viewpoints to play tourist, admire the red rocks and scenery, and take some pictures. It was so relaxing and peaceful.

One of the stops we made was at the Chapel of the Holy Cross, a church built into the side of the redrocks. For some reason, I just felt called to stop there and admire the view. This feeling rang through the entire day in Sedona.

So, we stopped, took pictures, etc - then did some shopping as we moved around town to find the various rock formations (Snoopy, etc). We stopped at Tlaquepaque (another spur of the moment stop) - and ended up parking near a candle store. We walked into a store and walked out with a blue Star of David Candle for Mom and a Tiger Print candle for me.

We decided to have dinner before we left for the 2.5 hour drive home.."Downtown" Sedona was way too busy so we drove to another part of town that we hoped would be less busy. On a whim, I pulled into a strip shopping mall and parked..There was a place called "Cafe Jose" and when I looked it up, served Mexican food. It was a little hole in the wall type place. OH EMM GEE! Some of the best Mexican food I have ever had. They had me at homemade tortillas!! The fajitas were very delicious. It was a stop at a random place. Or was it?

The cinnamon they sprinkled on our sopapillas was even in the shape of a heart!
How sweet love is.

One definition of a vortex I found online: 
"Swirling centers of energy that are conducive to healing, meditation and self-exploration. These are places where the earth seems especially alive with energy. Many people feel inspired, recharged or uplifted after visiting a vortex."

The day was a phenomenal success. I felt the power of the vortexes in Sedona, because as we drove up I felt quite emotional, but even carrying forward into today - I have felt at peace. I saw evidence of My Dad's presence multiple times as we walked around and shopped in Sedona.


I told Mom the last time I was in Sedona was maybe 10 years ago..So I decided to look at my checking account this morning to see when was I truly last there - September 24, 2000 - 14 years to the DAY before of his death. WOW!

Those vortexes are magic!!

 

Some Things Never Change..Even if they Indicate a Pattern

Disclaimer: Written about a year ago, but found today (July 28, 2018).
I went back to my calendar, and interesting timing on my memory - the date I was writing about below - Aug 2, 2017 - Almost one year later to the day.
____________ 

This morning, Dad had an appointment scheduled with the Eye Surgeon to discuss his cataracts and the plan for dealing (or not dealing) with them.

I woke up "late" - later than I had planned, but still early for the rest of the world - 0430, so that I could get some work done before taking Dad. I felt the start of a headache, but blew it off.

In hindsight, I later realized it was a tension headache. Taking Dad to a new Dr, which is stressful for me in and of itself. The fact that surgery, no matter how minor, is involved probably skyrockets my stress level and tends to overwhelm my emotions - whether I realize it or not.

I picked Dad up, and off we went. I don't mind driving him to Doctors, but as I have posted in many posts before, many times I turn into the parent, and this was one of them. I flat out refuse to let (forbid) Dad drive there - alone, or not. Our Eye Doctor is in the West Valley on the other side of town, and to get there you take I-10 to I-17, or as they are called here - "the 10" to "the 17." Many out here are like me, and are loyal to certain freeways. I like the 101 and the 202, and will take them if possible. I hate "the 10" - the drivers just seem more aggressive than on other highways. And the only one I hate worse than the 10..you guessed it, the 17. Uggh - so let's just add to the headache and stress level. I was full of nerves, tension, and nausea. 

For most of the ride, I just prayed please just get us there safely, and He did.

Because like father, like son, and like son, like father - we were over 40 minutes early so we stopped to get some breakfast and a cup of coffee for me.

Got to the Dr's office, and we were both under the impression that we were just going to talk to the doctor and be out within a few minutes. Lo and behold, we were finished 2.5 hours later! They moved us around the office, conducting various different tests and whatnot...the last nurse to come in before we saw the surgeon made a comment to the effect of "well you will get some drops before your procedure is done, which caught both of us off guard. We both thought that meant one of his cataracts was getting removed today!

When I feel we have not had time to prepare, or warned, about something - I turn into the ferocious Papa Bear attacking back; the defender and protector. My normally quiet and shy demeanor takes the backseat to my assertive and take control of the situation side. This was no different; The nurse left the room. We both exchanged quizzical looks and then I said we were going to ask the doctor if he didn't tell us otherwise if he was having one of the procedures done today. I basically went into attack mode. 
"Why didn't they tell us"
"How you can plan for this"
"This is a total lack of communication"
"If they do this again, that's their third strike..I will look for a new doctor"
(I was a bit feisty)

The doctor came in and thoroughly explained everything - what to expect, what would happen, what the recovery would be like, etc. He really won both of us over. As much as you look for a doctor with experience and medical skills, for lack of a better word - I also want a doctor with a good bedside manner, and this guy had it. He managed to answer all the questions I had, before I had a chance to ask them. I got the feeling he had his "shpiel" down pat, and it calmed me down and put me at ease.

After we saw the surgeon/doctor, we then met with the scheduler. Thank G-d for Google Calendar, so with the 3 of us sitting there, I can access my calendar at work, and my personal calendar as well as my parents calendar, and we negotiated dates and times that would work best for my schedule as the hired help aka chauffeur and Dad and other appointments he had.

The headache increased and was nearly throbbing - because now I really had to face the fact that he was going to deal with the cataracts and surgery. I hate change, and I definitely hate new medical stuff, but, at least I recognized it, and I knew that doing this in Dad's best interest to help him see clearly again.

So with our dates set for now - we left for home. Originally I thought I would have Dad drop me at work and I would just take an Uber home, but they dilated his eyes so that idea was pretty much a non-idea. I drove him home and then left to go to work. 

Always trust your intuition!! As I was about to get back on the highway, I thought, Wouldn't it just really suck to get hit as I'm trying to rush back to work. And in that next moment, a car decided not to look, and cut me off, forcing to slam on the brakes so hard, I felt my entire body rise up off the seat. I was inches from slamming into them, for what was their own fault. UGGH! All was well, no accidents thank goodness. Just my nerves getting even more shot.

In hindsight, about a year past when I originally wrote this - Sometimes you just can't plan. You have no choice, but to react accordingly and do all you can to survive.

Perhaps that's why I never posted this. I thought it was missing something, and I could never figure out how to end this post and tie it all together. The student was waiting for the teacher to appear with the lesson.

Being OK

I originally wrote this and posted it on Facebook 4 years ago - July 26, 2014.

Apparently, I had an amazing glimpse into and foresight of, the future.
At the time of my original post, my Dad was still mobile and relatively healthy (even as he was undergoing chemo) and although I don’t remember exactly what, something must have prompted me to write; likely another medical scare of some kind.
I'm posting it here so I can easily refer to it in the future.

Even four years later, re-reading what I wrote made an impact on me, again.
Powerful writing, back then as the son of a cancer patient, and now on the other side of the equation:


Clearly, you can always say that someone has it worse than you do, and that no matter how bad or dire your situation seems, it's quite better than what others may be dealing with. Some days there is complete and utter acceptance, of saying "it is what it is, and life does in fact go on.

And there are THOSE days.

The ones when you may question "why me?" -- not to mean why not someone else but it's a sign of a struggle between you and yourself. The struggle of realizing you just can't fix it all. The struggle to relinquish the control, of something you have zero control over.

These same days when you find those feelings of envy or jealousy bubbling to the surface. Jealous of those who don't know what's going on. Envious of those who are ignorant. Not intentionally ignorant, but who just have not had to deal with the same stuff, cross those same bridges, to realize that nothing lasts forever, and we are only on this earth for a finite period.

Jealous that they can be so carefree and live in the moment, where I don't feel I have that luxury anymore. Jealous that in my mind, that tomorrow goes on forever, when in reality, it doesn't.

You have to make the most of each and every moment you are blessed to spend with your loved ones and friends.

There's no explanation, no magic fix to make it all better.

All you can do is have faith in that even if it's not ok right now, it really still is OK. And it will be.

We Will Rebuild

Here in Arizona, the monsoons are a frequent occurrence during the summer.
Often, they are precluded by the dust storms that roll in first.
These walls of dirt and dust roll in, with somewhat little notice, overtake the air and ground, and then move on - generally, but not always, followed by rains that clear the area and restore the upset.

It was after one of these storm combinations recently, that made me realize grief can be so very similar.

I had missed (fell asleep during) a recent storm.  I heard my phone buzz with the monsoon alert and promptly fell asleep. As conditions were ripe again the following day, I hoped and prayed I would be awake to witness Mother Nature in all her glory.
Be careful what you ask for.

Mother Nature, as I had hoped, did not disappoint. My phone again went off, I looked outside and saw the beginning of the sky turn the typical shade of hot chocolate brown. I got very excited and went outside to experience it. At this point, there was no rain and not much wind. I stood outside our apartment, looking out to the street and just soaking in the experience. Had my Dad still been here, we would have been the texting pictures and updates to each other, from our respective locations, what color the sky was, how fast the clouds were moving, etc.
 

I made fun of him for it, but I am my Father’s son.
In all honesty, we were/are both weather geeks and wannabe meteorologists.
He always hated the term “haboob” which is probably why I love saying it so much.

I stood outside and in those moments, I felt an amazing connection with my Dad during this time. As the dust wall rolled in, I felt a sense of peace come over me.
He was with me.

A few minutes later, I returned back inside our apartment and that’s when the gravity of the situation hit. I couldn’t call my Dad to share this moment with him. I couldn’t text him my pictures and compare his sky to mine. My Dad wasn’t here, and this monsoon had given me a tremendous trigger and caught me off guard. There were both inside my head and outside storms occurring that night.

I went to the computer to type some of my thoughts, and I began to cry hard.
I really miss my Dad.
 
I wrote this on his FB page an in effort to communicate with my Dad and talk to him:
 
I went outside and stood for a few minutes, admiring nature in all its glory. We would have been on the phone - texting pics, giving updates on the exact shade of brown and comparing weather radar apps.
For as much as I made fun of you for it, I am the exact same way.
I am a wannabe weather broadcaster, and
I am your son.
Standing outside before, I felt this sense of calm and peace come over me. Did you grant my wish to see a storm in person? I felt connected to you by watching outside, but it’s a double edged sword and is really making me miss you.
I’ve been able to survive without calling you before now, but this caught me off guard.
What a tremendous trigger.
I can only imagine the kind of breathing issues you’d be having with hot chocolate dust for air.
I love and miss you so much, Dad.
❤️💔
There is a running joke with a meme that goes around here with a picture of a fallen over patio chair captioned “WE WILL REBUILD.”

What’s that about when the student is ready, the teacher appears.
As I drove to work the next morning, is when the idea of the monsoon storm symbolizing grief popped into my head, and this blog entry was born.


It has taken me a few days to get time to express these thoughts in writing.

I wrote last night (now two days after the monsoon described above)
I’ve been in a terrible funk off and on for about the past week and a half or so...but in a moment of strength a few hours ago, I decided to listen to some voicemails I had saved from my Dad. I wasn’t sure what would happen emotionally, but I was thrilled to hear his voice and hear him say “I love you” or call me one of the many nicknames he had for me. I heard his sense of humor that I miss. I laughed. For a few brief shining moments, it was nice to hear. I’m so glad I had saved those and any email he sent me over the past few years, so that I have them for all time. Or as long as GMail and Google Voice let me. ❤️ It didn’t upset me, it gave me peace.

We will rebuild.
Indeed, I will.
I am rebuilding.

Dear Bone Marrow Donation Recipient

This started out as a letter to the person I donated to, that I planned to post on the 1 year anniversary date of my Bone Marrow Donation Date. But, Fate had other plans.

My Bone Marrow Donationversary is May 15th.

On May 8th, I received a call from Be the Match advising that the person I donated to last year was at risk and needed a boost - of white cells, as was explained to me. It was never a question - I immediately agreed and started the entire process as I did last year - Full Health History Questionnaire (45 minutes on the phone), Physical Exam, Two sets of Labwork and exactly two weeks later to the date of the May 8th Phone call, I was in the hospital for the day to donate.

The process leading up to the donation, and even the donation itself was quite similar. Get to the hospital, take bloodwork to make sure everything is good one final time.  Then I had about 45 minutes to have breakfast while they waited for my numbers to return. At which point, I was hooked up again with both arms immobilized; one arm to extract the stem cells from my body and into the apheresis machine, and the other line (and arm) to return it back to my arm. Like last year, they kept what they wanted and returned what they didn't want.

What was different this year was, I lost use of both arms for the approximately 4-6 hours while I was laid up in bed. I had no problem doing what I did, and even still, I would do it again if the opportunity presented itself, but I think it was a matter of how the two hospitals operated differently. The hospital last year left me one arm to negotiate with, while this year it appeared they went by the book. I had brought a couple of snacks back from the cafeteria with me, only to receive a warning that I wasn't going to be able to eat during the procedure, or use the restroom. They were pretty strict (and by the book). I accepted the no eating, but I told them I needed to use the bathroom even if it was a urinal and so they acquiesed and agreed - I was able to use a urinal, but they would not let me get out of bed to use it, which proved to be interesting.

At any rate, I was hooked up and it was also very similar to the platelet donations I do once a month. Unfortunately, a vein my left arm collapsed so they had to manipulate the line midway through and as a result I received (after a couple of days) the mother of all bruises - probably the biggest black, blue, and purple mark I have ever received in my life. Although I wear it as a badge of honor, and it does not hurt....I would have hoped it would have been a smaller bruise like last year, when I ended up with a heart shaped bruise of my left forearm.

With all that time on the bed without my Ipad, without my phone (talk about being cutoff), I had plenty of time to think, but surprisingly, I didn't use the time to process what I was going through. Not really sure why, perhaps it was a measure of self protection. 

The days leading up to the donation, I was no less inclined to go through, but I began to get more emotional. There was no question, EVER, that I would go through with it, because I was helping to give someone life, but without my Dad here, it was really a completely different experience for me. It made me face the fact that although I had always dreamed of somehow saving him, this was forcing me to acknowledge, that the possibility of that was just gone, and so that preyed on my emotions, in combination with the fact that this donation was described to me as an "imminency" donation, meaning it is a last ditch effort.

A friend stated to me that what I did was "powerful and humbling all the same"
I think that is a perfect summation of the experience.

It's almost a week from my 2nd donation date and I still don't feel like I have completely processed all the feelings and dealt with my emotions relating to the experience. Processing that I am possibly this gentleman's last hope. Processing that I hope at minimum, I can give him and his family some extra time together to hug and kiss, and say what they need to, if they need to...Something we all did on a daily basis when it came to my Dad, but we did not have the extra time we all wanted. But, no one really does. Knowing what the future held would have not changed anything except made me stress and cry more. But, I hope for much more. I hope  this man receives the cure he needs. I hope he lives and gets to enjoy many more years with his loved ones. All I wanted to do was take away my Father's pain and misery...fix him. That's all I want to do for my donation recipient. I want to make him better. The struggles of being a "fixer." Perhaps I have avoided the feelings until now because deep down I knew it would reactivate what I feel for and about my Dad.

As I wrote on the day of the donation:
"Here we went again - I donated stem cells again today. I hope this works for him. Whereas last time I felt for most part, great honor - which I still do. I’ve been chosen twice!! This time, my feelings are more mixed. I always said I wanted to help someone else’s Dad since I couldn’t help (I was not a match for him) my own. Now, the possibility of helping my Dad is no longer a possibility. The process this time makes me face that reality. When your parent is aging or suffering, all you want to do is make the hurt and pain go away. Similar to how a parent feels about their child. I hope I am at minimum, giving another family some more cherished time together. I am sure my Dad is smiling that I have this wonderful opportunity again"

Below is what I originally planned to post on this blog with a few changes based on what  I now know:

Dear Bone Marrow Donor Recipient,

When I joined Be The Match, the Bone Marrow Donor Registry that matches donors with recipients, my goal was to help someone, anyone. I was not a match for my Dad, and from the minute I joined the registry, I had said to anyone that would listen "If I can't save my Dad, then I want to save someone else's Dad."

Through a few months of blood tests and physical exams, One year ago today, on Monday, May 15, 2017 - My dream came true. The entire journey, but most especially the donation day, holds a very special place in my heart, and it was my honor to donate anonymously to you.  My donation procedure was called PBSC - Peripheral Blood Stem Cell Donation.

I hope you are doing well and that you and your family get to enjoy your company and share your love for many, many more years. I know you are from Europe and were just a few years younger than my Dad's age. Do you have kids and grandkids?

I think about you and wonder, besides the obvious, how did this affect your life? 
Did you take on my blood type as a result of the donation?
How long did the procedure take and how long until you got to go home?

I may never get the answers to these questions, but I like to think that I was as close to a perfect match as you could get (Be The Match told me I had to be a very high percentage of a match to even be considered as an anonymous donor).

The fact I was called twice to donate to you makes me think I am a really close match to you, and even perhaps, that we share some common heritage or possibly the same religion.
(I joked that after I finished donating, I was going to patrol the halls of the hospital looking for my blood cells.  I felt that I would recognize my own cells immediately, and they would make themselves known to me because I would see little blue Stars of David floating around somewhere)

I hope you are enjoying life, and that your form of cancer has been cured and that you are in remission.I pray that it has.

If your situation is as dire as I am led to think, I hope you take every single minute to hug and kiss and spend time with your loved ones, and I hope they do the same with you. Take pictures, Talk, Hold each other. Hugs. Anything, as long as you spend time together, will be worth it.

I think I have now aged out of Be the Match - They prefer donors aged 43 and younger. So, I barely made it through before I turned too old.  Never say never - I never thought I would be called a second time...and if I am called again - I will again answer the call. 

The process, in part, inspired me to continue helping those in need, especially after my Dad died by donating platelets,  about once a month. The process is quite similar - Dracula sucks the blood out, they keep the platelets, and then they return the rest of the blood components back into my arm. The entire process takes about 2 hours or so. Two hours, that I can give up to give someone else what they need.

Because my Dad was historically low in platelets - that's what I chose to donate, Even before I found out that my Blood Type is a Universal Donor Type for Platelets, so any other blood type can use my platelets. That made me even more happy. My Dad would have called me a Platelet Whore (He called himself the Chemo Whore).

The text messages I get telling me that my blood is on its way to a hospital to help someone in need warm my heart. The same way my bone marrow did when it was on its way to you.

I wish you and your family all the best, and a great big high five and hug from your friend in America.

Love,
Jeff

Every Step is a Step Forward, Even if it Feels Like You are Stepping Backward

Last weekend was about my Mom.

All about my Mom.

As it should be.

It didn’t work, but I tried to put my grief on hold and focus everything on My Mother, her Birthday, and Mother’s Day.

Friday, we went out for a nice dinner, as we usually do on Fridays.

We went to Texas Roadhouse and both had enough leftover for another meal.

Satruday, as we usually do again, we went out for Mom’s Birthday – this time to Sal’s. (Italian).

Sal’s is one of our favorite/regular places, and it was the first time we thought of going there since my Dad died.

On the way there, I started to tear up, but I shoved those feelings down.

This weekend was about Mom – I wasn’t going to get upset or bring her day down.

I shoved those feelings down so hard, I wonder if part of me hoped I could never recover them.

Sunday, we planned to either go out again (LOTS of leftovers!) or eat some of the leftovers.

Since it was Mother’s Day, I hoped to go out, but it wasn’t in the cards.

We both had a bad emotion kind of day.

Even though Mother’s Day is about Mothers – It caught me off guard.

Maybe it caught both of us off guard.

I did not expect that Mother’s Day would hit me and both of us, so hard.

We got thru my Mom’s birthday pretty well unscathed.

Her birthday did not hit us the way my birthday did.

I thought, Wow..she is dealing with it pretty well..

Seeing as how on my birthday, I did not want to honor it, I did not want to celebrate it, I did not want to anything it, because it was nothing without my Dad here.

Those feelings I shoved down and tried to avoid, came bubbling back up to the surface on Sunday with Mother’s Day.

Without my Dad here, the day felt awkward, out of place, something was missing, empty.

What I learned was, you can’t put grief on hold anymore than someone telling you to “get over it” doesn’t work either.

I read something recently – “every step is a step forward, even if it feels like you are stepping backward”

That’s exactly what this felt like – If Mother’s Day was this tough, I am not looking forward to Father’s Day.

It took us a few days, but we recovered.

In hindsight, that is definitely a step forward. 

We didn't park there permanently. 

Thank Goodness.

Judging from what I see in the online support groups I participate in – I am not alone.

Any holiday is rough.

And It is impossible at least for me, to compartmentalize my grief, as I tried to do.

I think its the first time I tried to.

Much like it did with my Dad, it drives me insane and irritates me to no end when I cannot fix what is wrong with someone else.

All I want is to make it better, but I can’t even do that for myself, in this situation.

So instead, what we can do is make the most out of the time we get to share together.

Like going out to dinner, and to see live theatre like the Diary of Anne Frank last night.

We both enjoyed the night and the company. <3

We stopped on the way to see my Dad. 

The timing was just right.

We got to visit with him and "see" and talk to him on our way to go out last night

It almost felt like he was right there with us, even though plays and especially stuff involving the Holocaust was just too hard for him to take.

What I can do is what I have long advised others to do – celebrate the small victories, and just tread and navigate through the rough waters when they appear.