Welcome Back

I set out on January 1st to lose 43lbs before my family vacation to a Florida beach in June. I was 16lbs down and doing great! I felt good, had a ton of energy, was eating perfect and training for four long distance bike rides during the summer. When I look back now, I'd say my life was pretty perfect.



My dad and I

Then on sunday, March 24th, I got the call that I never really thought would ever come. My brother called me and told me my dad died in his sleep... At 58. "What? You're kidding right? Are you laughing? It really sounds like you're laughing" (mental note: hysterical crying can be mistaken for hysterical laughing)

My dad, who I just saw yesterday. Who I went on a bike ride with yesterday. Who I talked to yesterday, hugged and kissed and just fucking saw yesterday, is dead.

This is the last photo taken of dad, about 10 hours before he died. On our last bike ride together.

Let me just say, this is the first person I've ever lost and it fucking sucks. More than anything else in the world. You will be two people in your lifetime. The person you are before you lose someone, and the person you become after you've lost one of the closest people in your life. At least that's how I see it right now. Dear God, this fucking sucks. Part of me wants to die too.

I was planning on writing a post about my dad's incredible (Read:190lbs lost in 10 months) weight loss, and the old man went and fucking died on me before I could. We had so many plans together and he's fucking dead. It is very surreal to me still. It's been almost a month, and I still don't feel like doing anything, living, being a mom, anything.

 Sadly, it helps a lot not to think about him. When I do think of him, I either want to cry or just end up crying anyways. But thinking of him is all I have left, so I find myself really trying to think of him. Trying to remember situations we were in together and trying to remember exactly what we were saying. Trying to burn those memories into my brain so I can have more of him.

I feel like he's just gone on a business trip or something. I feel like he's going to be coming back soon. Even though I saw him in the casket. Even though I went to the funeral home to braid his hair one last time and I saw him laying there on the cold, metal table. I don't feel like he's really gone.

I saw my dad probably 5-6 times a week. I rode bikes with my dad 3-4 times a week. I went shopping with my dad, the whole family would often go to dinner together. He came to my son's baseball practice and games. He watched Austin anytime he was home sick, or didn't have school. It's not like I lost an old, ill, parent who lived in another state. I lost my daddy. Who was losing weight so he could be here for us longer. My kids lost their papa. I just don't get it. There is a huge piece of me gone, and my life will never be the same.