I have a heavy heart. I miss my Dad all the time. I think about him all the time and what I miss. He was SO funny. You have no idea how funny. Funny in such a smart way. I felt funnier around him. Lighter. Happier. Calmer. Better. Am I still those things now that he is gone? I know I am but I feel sometimes I am not. There is a choking sob at the ready all the time the past few days.  I have been especially sensitive about everything. I sort of flipped out on Peter last night. I just felt empty. I know what it is but that doesn't make it any easier. This morning I'm pushing it aside because of all of the running around I have to do. I'm moving through quicksand though. Everything seems to take so much more effort because I just want to sit and stare and cry. I talked to Meg this morning and asked "Do you ever just feel the need to scream to no one in particular 'MY DAD DIED!!!!!'?"

I feel that way. I need to take myself by the hand and tell myself it will be ok.  Also, being very new to this whole grief thing I need to remember that it will take lots and lots of time to heal. And I may never heal completely. I'll just grow accustomed to this hole. I'm trying my hardest to treat myself as I would treat someone else who was hurting and in pain.

It's unchartered territory though so I feel as if sneaks up on me. Just when I think I've wrapped up this grief blanket and put it neatly to the side, I find myself enveloped in it.

I said to my dear Meggie this morning that I feel a little as if the net is gone. I have been practicing being an adult this whole time, teetering back and forth on the high wire, knowing all the while that my Dad would catch me if I needed him. Now, it feels as if the net is gone. I am officially an adult. I didn't feel adult when I got married. I didn't feel adult when I had Hadley or Finn. But I feel it now.

I also, strangely, feel less Irish. I know that sounds insane but it's true. My Dad sort of embodies Ireland to me. Both of my parents do actually. I still associate the claddagh ring with their marriage. I know I always will. My mom has always worn hers. My Dad gave my sister and I one.

A good friend of my dad's, who is from Ireland, spoke at my dad's funeral reception and said "Roger was Ireland in America".

I love that.

St. Patrick’s Day was harder for me than I thought. My Dad was big on not acting like an idiot on St. Patrick’s Day and getting all boozed up. I think that stems from growing up in Boston as an Irish Catholic. Everyone expects the Irish to act like drunken fools so don’t give them what they want he would say. Being Irish isn’t painting your face and wearing green. You’re Irish in your heart.

Hadley and my Dad had this ladybug thing. He first got her 1500 ladybugs one time when she was in Denver when she was 2 and they crawled all over her and she loved it. She always remembered that and every subsequent time they bought ladybugs and released them together.
Spring forward to St. Patrick’s Day this year. It is a holy day in Ireland so in honor of my Dad, Hadley and I went to mass together on Saturday night. Mass begins and she’s standing next to me looking around and wiggling in place when she suddenly yells out “A LADYBUG!” There in front of her was a ladybug. In the middle of church. Inside. In March. It just was so weird. She played with it very carefully all through mass and then we let it go when we left. I’d like to think it was a sign from my Dad saying “I’m ok and I love you.” A sign to Hadley and to me. It makes me happy to think that. It's just so him.

Shoutout to Joy. Thank you for understanding. A lovely friend indeed. XOXO.

Love to the Padden Clan as well. Deep breath.