It’s been nearly two weeks now. In typical times, I’d be back in Wisconsin probably getting ready to make my trip back to Minnesota. Family would be all together. We’d have laughed and cried and laughed again. We’d have all come together with prayers and stories. We’d have gathered together in Dacada around the spot where Mom lies and laid Dad’s ashes down beside her and maybe gone over across the street to have Uncle Nicky make us all a Old Fashioned to commemorate the day.

These aren’t typical times. Instead of coming home from Wisconsin and time with family, I just got home yesterday from Mayo clinic and surgery. The last two weeks have mostly been a blur. Coming home from epilepsy monitoring, Dad’s death, going back to Mayo for surgery, spending some time at Ann and Christopher’s house.

Today is the day that my tears start to flow again. Tears of thankfulness for the dear friends who’ve held me together and been watching out for me in these recent days. I really do feel so incredibly lucky to have been gifted with people like that in my life, those friends and family who are smart enough to see when I need them and to step right in, not waiting for me to figure it out. I tend to be rather slow in figuring out such things for myself.

Tears today too as I spend my day just resting and relaxing. The pause is giving me the chance to just randomly have these moments where my system seems to say “Dad is dead.” It’s coming to that point where it’s real and none of the age old ceremony that we relied on is there, only the questions of what is the right way to honor the passing of our loved ones now?

It’s different than when I was a little girl and Mom died. First, I was a little girl. Secondly, I was surrounded by family and friends and immersed in the ceremonies. It was too much for a little girl. The pain was far too real and too constant. This is different. With Dad I know it will be okay. I know he’s found his peace and that the sadness is my own. I know that I will always miss him. That’s not going to change, but I’ll laugh at the stories and seeing his grandchildren smile in the way he used too will touch my heart and give me faith. Still, this is that sneaky sadness and it just hits me with no forewarning, tells me that he’ll never give me one of his Dad kisses again, that I’ll never get to hug him one more time. All I know in that moment is that I want that one more hug, that one more Dad kiss, and it’s all gone.

I guess hugs and kisses are something that are handed down. My Dad hugged and kissed kids and grandkids like his aunt Sr. Christine used to. Maybe the only thing to do is keep handing them down. Keep the hugs and kisses going. Keep telling the stories. Honor the spirit. Guess I’m just going to have to be the old auntie with hugs and kisses. That’s what I can do.

You know it doesn’t really matter what else we do. Nothing really is bigger. Dad used to make point of giving me a hug and kiss every time I came to visit. We always made a point to tell each other that we loved each other. As a young adult, I found it kind of goofy. As I aged and Dad got old, I came to appreciate it and recognized how much it meant to him. Now, I think I’ve come to realize the gift he gave me in that little action. That little act told me that I was somebody special and now I get to always carry that with me.

Wow. If there’s someone in your life that you value, please tell them again and again. Please give them the gift that my dad gave me and let them have that treasure of feeling value and self-worth. It is an incredible gift.