Saint Pete.

So, three years ago today my sweet co-workers were picking my sorry butt up from its teary puddle, calling my husband, investigating bereavement flights to Pennsylvania on my behalf. 

It was the day that I grew up.('s hard to remain a perpetual Daddy's Girl when he's not around to dote on one's every accomplishment.)

And every year, when this day rolls around, I struggle...I spend most of the day moping around, feeling angry, off-center and confused. My husband checks in constantly, asking what he can do to restore my usual chipper demeanor...knowing that I'll say "nothing, honey...I'm fine."

Today started out much like the last few...woke up feeling blue and distractable, and ran through my list of chores in that same, semi-weepy fashion...laundry (crying in the basement is ok - whew!), groceries (do not cry in the grocery store unless you're investigating onions or vinegar. It's awkward.), new coffee maker (*sniff*..."can you believe this sale? i'm overcome...."), all accomplished, but with no real investment or joy. 

But in the cracks between these tasks? Little bits of happiness. A great visit with the neighbors. A freshly bathed - and oh-so-sweet-smelling - dogger. An outpouring of love from the interwebs and texts. Good chats with my mom and brother, the two folks who are on my same page. A short run - the first in WEEKS! - in the warm springlike air. A cold beer, infused with dad's favorite spirit.

And suddenly it was obvious. The best way I have to honor him is to hold him in my heart as I enjoy these people, this place, the right now. Knowing that, at any minute, it could all be taken away from me...but that if I lose it all, I'll most likely find him at the end of the path, saying "Sis! What took you so long? Let me show you around..."

Peter P. Pokego
November 6, 1942-February13, 2008
Rest in peace, my sweet papa.


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