A most precious gift

My dad wrote a book as he was dying.

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Actually. He dictated most of it to my mom. And they didn’t get to finish. But I remember them working on it together. I’d sneak up and watch them working together, exploring old memories and putting his thoughts on paper. That’s what I remember most about his last few months, at a time where everything felt like it was spinning out of control, I’d catch my parents curled up together in bed, whispering and laughing, as they created this most precious gift.

They ran out of time though and most of the pages are blank. It’s special to me, because I remember the effort and magic that went into the finished parts. I’ve carried it with me every where, held it, ran my fingers across it, smelled it, cried on it, and even talked to it…

Tonight, for the first time, I opened it.

I could write for hours about my experiences as I read each page. But this blog is about my stretch to health.

My dad wrote of a friend, many many times, on multiple pages. So much so, that I felt compelled to Google the boy’s name. My father’s childhood best friend grew up to become a doctor.
What’s his specialty? You ask…..
ANOREXIA!

And on the last page they finished, he said:
Health and happiness are the most important things

Why did I open it for the first time tonight? Why did I feel so compelled to find out what became of the little boy who liked “building stuff and fishing” with my dad?

He may not be here to tell me any more, but he always shows me where the answers are.

Dinners with Dad (and I’m an emotional basket case)

I am not going to yoga this week (not enough gas), which is doing really strange things to me. I have been extremely emotional, moody, tired, uncomfortable… Basically, I need a sign that say “caution yogaless yogini, chose your words carefully abs stand 10 feet back.”

I’m also super worried about losing ground in my practice and, of course, gaining weight. “No worries” I think to myself, “we are the queen of deprivation. No yoga. No food. Simple.” Except, it’s not. I did such a good job establishing a pattern, that now I can’t turn it off! And, not only that, but… On yoga, I only want to eat tons of citrus and spinach (planet’s most scurvy proof anorexic, right here), I have tons of energy and am ready for anything. Off yoga, all I want to do is sleep or eat carbs, sugar and all kind of hollow shit foods. And tonight, the unrelenting demand was for macaroni and cheese (KD for you Canadians out there). So, I gave in- without yoga I am a pushover.

When I was little, my mom was gone a lot at night. She worked or went to school or the gym or something… I don’t really know, but most nights it was just me and dad for dinner. Back then, we weren’t very good at the whole cooking thing. We ate eggs with American cheese, grilled cheese, American cheese melted on pasta… All kinds of American cheese concoctions (this may have something to do with my aversion to almost every non-cheese food on the planet). I’d sit up on the counter so we could converse and be at eye level while he worked. Anyhow, I wanted THIS kind of macaroni and cheese.

So I made some!
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Next week, it will be 13 years since my dad died. We were really close. Making and eating dad-style Mac and cheese tonight was an extremely positive, grounding experience.

Oh. I also cut my hair tonight!

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It had been down, almost to my waist. I really like it shorter (so far).