Thankful: Full of thanks

Over the past month, I've read my friends "thankful" posts - triggering me to think of my own each day. The problem with this is that once I start thinking of all of the things/people/experiences for which I'm thankful, I can't stop. It has made me a happier person.

I have had the incredible privilege to live my amazing life. Each moment, each person, each experience and encounter, all of those and everything in between, has gotten me to where I am: so full of joy and thanks that it is often disturbingly powerful. Because of you, my friends, family, acquaintances, loves, and furbabies, I am grateful, hopeful, and driven to be a kinder, more thoughtful, and loving person.

My family and friends have picked me up when I was at my lowest moment, laughed with me and at me when it was appropriate and, of course, completely inappropriate. My journeys have carried me to see amazing sights and meet wonderful people. I have loved and lost, overcome and succumbed, given and taken, provided and been provided for, and lived beyond my imagination.

Today, I am grateful for everything mentioned above, but most of all, I am grateful for loving one of the most kind, considerate, forgiving, tolerant, patient, compassionate, goofy, loyal, and supportive people I know. I am grateful for the past three years that I've been able to spend with my family, by their side as they have been by mine. I am grateful for the conversations I had with my dad before he left this earth, for the hugs and smiles I will always remember, for his colorful language and demanding nature, and for his love. I am grateful for my mother's strength and love, for her hugs, for her amazing cooking skills, and for her belief in me. I am grateful for my siblings and their spouses for their friendship, love, support, jokes, children, kindness, warmth, and unconditional caring for me, each other, their children, and our mother. Finally, I am grateful for my sweet girls who wag their tail each time we walk through the door, who roll over as you approach them in hopes that their tummies will be rubbed, who dig the largest and deepest holes I've ever seen in 5 seconds flat, who think the raised garden bed is their personal sandbox, who crawl in bed with me on Saturday mornings, who swim and run with such glee and joy you can't help but revel in their happiness.

I am thankful for all that has happened, continues to happen, and for what the future holds. I have a feeling the next year will entail more adventures, more love, and an incredibly powerful journey.

Your conversations with God

I don't know what happens when you die. I wish I did. I wish I knew what really happens. Is it different for everyone? Is it similar? Do others come to greet you? Are you swept away into a new adventure immediately? There are so many thoughts on this subject, but really, we just don't know.

Of course, I've been thinking about this so much since May 20th. My dad passed away on the 21st, but the death process started on the 20th. I saw him on Sunday, the 19th - I had just gotten back from a week long vacation. I remember talking to my sister, her urging me that I should go see him and mom, immediately leaving the restaurant and heading up the road to Harbour River, where they were. I got there and Gil was sleeping, but I went in to give him a quick kiss anyway. He woke up all smiles, asked me how my vacation was, what we did, told me he liked my tan, and then I let him go back to sleep. I wish I had talked to him more. I wish I had known. But he seemed fine! Well, as fine as he had seemed for the past year, but he wasn't.

The next morning, I went to work and was crazy busy. You know how it goes after being out for a week at the end of the fiscal year. I get another email/call from my sister letting me know that she was on her way down and that I needed to go up to Harbour River. I finished my meeting and immediately left. The entire 45 minute ride - I couldn't get there fast enough - I replayed in my head the conversation I should have had with him that Sunday. Why didn't I ask more questions? Why didn't I make him stay awake longer? Why didn't I tell him how very much I loved him, how much he changed my life, how I couldn't imagine life without him... I needed him to tell me what to do, and yet, he was the only one who couldn't.

By the time I arrived, he was already fairly out of it. The hospice nurse had come who had known him for the length of his illness, and she told us that she was afraid to leave - as she would most likely get a call as soon as she got down the road: it would just be a few hours. That was around noon on Monday. Like he did, however, he refused to be on anyone else's timeline. He hung in there, in and out of consciousness until around 11pm on Tuesday evening. My sister, mother, and I were reading their love story book to them. We were laughing and crying. Finally, after hours of telling him all that we needed to say - of telling him how much we love him and how thankful we have always been for him coming into our lives, my mom tells him that it's ok. He can go. We will be ok. In what seemed like seconds, he took his last breath, and just like that, he was gone.

I'm not sure how the world kept spinning, but it did. The days past, the arrangements were made, the stories were told, and lovely notes were sent. But I wonder what Gil was doing? What did he see before he passed away - I know he was seeing something, but it definitely wasn't here. Was Jackson there to greet him? Were his pups Coco Butter Bradham, Millie, Lizzie, and Feather? Were his parents there? Or did God meet him first? What did he say to God? Can you imagine the questions he must have asked? For those of you who don't know, he was inquisitive to say the least.

So I've been picturing this lately - his conversations with God. I can see him pushing back on explanations, trying to understand, giving God a run for his/her money. I hope he's flying - he would love that. I hope he's drinking really great Gin and telling the tallest of tales. I hope he's surrounded by love and his dogs, and mine. I hope that he is warm. I hope that he is happy. I hope that he's in such a wonderful place that he doesn't miss us, although that is a difficult hope to have when we miss him so much.

I guess at the end of the day, we are only really left with hope. Hope for those we love, hope for cures, hope for happiness and adventure, hope for all of our lives and what comes after. I'm so incredibly thankful for all that Gil gave me, but most of all, I am thankful for the hope he continues to bring out in me.

I love you Crowdaddy - thank you - try not to push God too much... ok?

Moments

Life is full of moments: big moments, little moments, and every breath in between.

I haven't written in a while - sometimes all of these moments are a bit overwhelming, and to put them into words seems to bring about more emotion than I'm willing to concede.

The past three years have been some of the most wonderful, joy filled, agonizing, gut wrenching, fabulous, awakening, sad, beyond sad, and powerful moments of my life. I don't want to forget a single one of them. I find myself holding on to each moment, trying to savor them and lock them permanently into my mind in hopes that I can pull them out whenever needed. It's not really working.

These memories tend to just pop up whenever they wish, with complete disregard to what I am doing or where I am. It's quite rude, actually. I'm fairly certain it is a power greater than me giving me a little slap upside the head when I need a reminder of what really matters in life.

And here is truly the point of this post - the moments are what matter. The time I spend with all of the people so incredibly important in my life are some of the most amazing moments that I refuse to miss. I've missed so many already. The moment my dad took his last breath - that mattered. The moment I saw my niece and nephews for the first time, their first birthdays, their parent's weddings - those moments matter. The times I've been able to hold my mom when she needed me the most - those moments matter. The times my sister and I downed bottles of wine, the time she rescued me from the ski slope as I lay under a snow blower, the time my brother told me to give Atlanta 9 months, and if I still wanted to leave, he would come get me, the time my mom dropped me off at boarding school and then again at college, the times Gil took me on motorcycle rides and told me stories on rainy nights about his adventures, the times I have loved and been loved, the times that I have really lived, those are the moments that matter.

I so easily get caught up in the day to day that I rarely stop to take in the world around me - the moments that are being created right in front of my eyes without my awareness. I hope those times get fewer and farther between. I hope that I pay more attention to what matters and that I let go of what doesn't. With that thought, I'll sign off so that I can watch cartoons with my niece and her baby doll Marsha.