Long Days, Short Years, Stiff Drinks

Through those life changing and foggy (not even) few months from my dad's diagnosis to his death, I experienced every emotion in the human spectrum of feelings, some of them for longer periods than others.  Some of them I hope to never feel again.  Some of them I feel today.  Some of them I will always feel. There was one that I actively pursued, though.  A feeling that I sought out and brought to my attention in dark and light hours alike. That feeling is gratitude. I was so incredibly grateful that even though we had a shockingly short amount of time left with him, we had SOME.  We could talk, share, ask, and care for one another in a way that is unique to knowing the end is near. I was so incredibly grateful for my current position as a stay-at-home mom so that I could be there and do what needed to be done without worry of lost income, time off, or leave policies. I was so incredibly grateful that the timing worked out in such a way that my brot...

My dad was really, really funny.  Whether you'd known him your entire life or for a few short moments, he had you in stitches.  Blushing, likely, too.  It was one of his many innate gifts.  I've finally cried enough in all of this to be able to do something else.  Laugh. In addition to the humor gene he thankfully passed along to us, my brother and I were lucky enough to have received years of training in timing and delivery.  But his humor was not for the faint of heart.  It was crude and crass and his comedy, as well as his everyday language, was peppered with profanity.  I'm unashamed to say that the not so subtle art of swearing was passed along to us as well. Ah, fuck it.  It's just the Sears way. He loved to tell the story of a family trip over Christmas to New England when I was about ten.  We'd gone snow skiing for the first time ever and being completely unexperienced with skiing (and snow for that matter) I became rat...