After something unexpectedly tragic happens, it can be very difficult to find some type of new normal. This is my journey to find that new normal.
Eudaimonia: n. "a contented state of being happy and healthy and prosperous."
Letters to My Father (12.25.13)
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Dear Dad,
Today feels so incomplete without you. There are no words for this kind of sadness. There is absolutely nothing at all.
What two years can do to a person... It's strange to think it has been only two years since I began writing on this blog. Today, as I now have a full-time job at an NPR affiliate, I find myself recollecting on how it is possible that I got here. I am fortunate to have had professors and people in the industry who have all thought I was worthy of a chance. To all of you, thank you. I also know I have the best mother on the face of the earth - and I know there are many of you out there who would argue that yours is the greatest of all - and isn't it wonderful that we share that? But something has changed in me. I can say I've lived in another state besides Oklahoma. I've moved away. I've left my loved ones. Why? Somedays - I don't know. It's uncomfortable to be by yourself. In foreign city, all alone. On other days it also can be peaceful. But I haven't written a personal or creative sentence in this time frame, since I've moved.
I wished I would've been able to tell myself that when Death came again it was going to hurt less. But it didn't. Sometimes I think having such a huge loss at a young age changed my perspective on life to being more hopeful. My earliest experience with Death labeled him as an intruder. Death had hurt me deep down into the core of my being... now he was back. We lost my great-grandmother, Birdie Faye Brown, earlier this month and at first it didn't sink in how much this woman had meant to the family. A few of us had some rough patches with her, you see. But she was still the reason I had a little bit of red in my hair. It happened almost 4 years after you had died, Howard. This was a fact that kept circulating in the kitchen at Grandma's. We couldn't believe it. We kept on saying it as if it were supposed to make sense. But of course it didn't. Right before the funeral I drove with Angel to Kansas so she could coach some little girls that were on a soc
Dear Dad, You died a year ago today. The foggy recollection that this is no longer an approaching inevitability, but rather a fact that I need to accept is mind-numbingly painful. I still try to remember that day, the day you left us. Sometimes the memories seem hazy, but other times I see it in a monotonous pattern constantly on replay. A year ago it was sunny and unnaturally warm for the first day of December. It was a Sunday and I had come home straight after my weekend job at the little mom-and-pop café. When I got home you were dressed to do yard work. “How was work?” You asked. “Fine. Kind of a slow day, actually,” I replied. You smiled and gave me a hug. I was glad to be home. I had a test in Physics that coming Thursday and wanted to study as much as I could. Mom was cleaning the kitchen, preparing for dinner. You said that you wanted something spicy to eat. We planned on watching Masterpiece Theatre that night. “Are you going outside to work?
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