November 4th, 1998
This last week was one of the most significant weeks for me in a very long time. 18 years ago - November 4th 1998 was the day my dad lost his battle with cancer. It's not something I'm extremely open about - not because It's hard for me neccesarily but because I don't like the feeling of awkwardness, people feeling sorry for me or not knowing what to say. So, Instead of openly explaining my dad passed away I kind of just avoid the subject. It's certainly not easy for me to live my life with out my dad, but I'm so incredibly blessed that I've had an amazing, wonderful, loving step dad that stepped up to the plate to try his best to fill the void the loss of my father left. He's done an amazing job of it too and I don't think I tell him that enough.
Anyway, I digress - November 4th 1998 I lost my father to his battle with cancer. I was 11. I had just moved from the south west side suburb of Chicago to Merrill, WI. I'm not exactly sure you could find polar opposites such as that. I was new in a place that didn't look familiar in any way, people were different in every way, I was different in everyway. I missed a lot of school and was struggling really terribly. Every other weekend it seemed as if we were traveling back home. Then we'd be back to Merrill the following Monday trying to adjust and being hit with questions from inquiring kids. I went back home for Halloween I remember and enjoyed life as a child. I spent time in my old neighborhood at the annual Halloween block party. I visited my dad and I didn't quite know that it was the last time. He said good bye to my brother first. Kissed him. My turn - he couldn't kiss me, I remember he physically couldn't. I hugged him but as much as I know he wanted to reciprocate he couldn't. Thinking back on it that's what is hardest. I wish I would have cherished my time better. I was 11 - how was I supposed to know. I knew he was dying, I knew it wasn't going to be long, but I always thought I had one more day. We went back to Merrill and we went back to school. After school we started going through pictures to hang on picture boards for his funeral. We were watching Lion King 2 and my mom called and I know immediately that he was gone. I took the news and went upstairs to my room and grieved the best way I knew how at the time. I cried, but only a little. I didn't actually cry that much. We went to the funeral and it was like I was on the outside looking in. I still remember the crisp November air, what I was wearing, sitting on the funeral home couches, visiting daddy in his casket, I remember thinking that this is quite possibly the last time I will be seeing daddy's friends - people I've met here and there in my short 11 years but somehow knowing it was the last time because our common factor was my dad struck me. I remember the ride to the cemetery. I don't remember much after that. Actually, I don't remember anything at all really. I vaguely remember looking at the bushes around his grave but I don't think I went and watched him be buried. I could be wrong, but I honestly don't remember.
18 years have passed. I've had my first dance, my boyfriends, I've had my first baby and have fallen in love. I've graduated high school and college and I think I've made him proud. And while I find comfort in that I'm saddened that he's missed it all physically. Very important people to me will never have the pleasure of knowing him, he will never be able to hug his grandkids, or meet Luke or walk me down the aisle when I marry. And while it's been 18 years and sometimes I don't think about him and missing him it never seems to get better, the hurt is just as much and maybe even more than it was 18 years ago. It never gets better, it does get easier in general. I heard an analogy once and I really feel it. -- When you first lose a parent it's like always having a huge rock and when you first get the huge rock you only focus on "oh my god, this is so heavy" you don't stop thinking about the rock but eventually you get stronger and then you're able to carry the rock and then you're able to run with the rock. Someday you're going to be running along with the rock and you forget it is there but you always know it is. Some days it feels a little heavier, some days you don't feel it at all.
So why was this week so significant for me besides the anniversary of his death? If you knew anything about my dad you would know he was a diehard cubs fan and if you know anything about me you know that I inherited that as well. And if you know anything about the Chicago Cubs, you know they've sucked for a quite a long time and for 108 years the all elusive World Series couldn't be in their grasp. Wednesday, November 2nd 2016 the Chicago Cubs WON the World Series. Just TWO days before the anniversary of my dads death. And while he couldn't be here to witness it I PROMISE you he was ecstatic from heaven and I'm sure God gave him a pass to be at the game in spirit. To me it seemed so heart warming and overwhelming to have witness something that he would have loved to witness.
Dad, I love you. I miss you. And I especially hope that you and grandpa had a beer while cheering on the cubs win.
xoxo
Nikki
Anyway, I digress - November 4th 1998 I lost my father to his battle with cancer. I was 11. I had just moved from the south west side suburb of Chicago to Merrill, WI. I'm not exactly sure you could find polar opposites such as that. I was new in a place that didn't look familiar in any way, people were different in every way, I was different in everyway. I missed a lot of school and was struggling really terribly. Every other weekend it seemed as if we were traveling back home. Then we'd be back to Merrill the following Monday trying to adjust and being hit with questions from inquiring kids. I went back home for Halloween I remember and enjoyed life as a child. I spent time in my old neighborhood at the annual Halloween block party. I visited my dad and I didn't quite know that it was the last time. He said good bye to my brother first. Kissed him. My turn - he couldn't kiss me, I remember he physically couldn't. I hugged him but as much as I know he wanted to reciprocate he couldn't. Thinking back on it that's what is hardest. I wish I would have cherished my time better. I was 11 - how was I supposed to know. I knew he was dying, I knew it wasn't going to be long, but I always thought I had one more day. We went back to Merrill and we went back to school. After school we started going through pictures to hang on picture boards for his funeral. We were watching Lion King 2 and my mom called and I know immediately that he was gone. I took the news and went upstairs to my room and grieved the best way I knew how at the time. I cried, but only a little. I didn't actually cry that much. We went to the funeral and it was like I was on the outside looking in. I still remember the crisp November air, what I was wearing, sitting on the funeral home couches, visiting daddy in his casket, I remember thinking that this is quite possibly the last time I will be seeing daddy's friends - people I've met here and there in my short 11 years but somehow knowing it was the last time because our common factor was my dad struck me. I remember the ride to the cemetery. I don't remember much after that. Actually, I don't remember anything at all really. I vaguely remember looking at the bushes around his grave but I don't think I went and watched him be buried. I could be wrong, but I honestly don't remember.
18 years have passed. I've had my first dance, my boyfriends, I've had my first baby and have fallen in love. I've graduated high school and college and I think I've made him proud. And while I find comfort in that I'm saddened that he's missed it all physically. Very important people to me will never have the pleasure of knowing him, he will never be able to hug his grandkids, or meet Luke or walk me down the aisle when I marry. And while it's been 18 years and sometimes I don't think about him and missing him it never seems to get better, the hurt is just as much and maybe even more than it was 18 years ago. It never gets better, it does get easier in general. I heard an analogy once and I really feel it. -- When you first lose a parent it's like always having a huge rock and when you first get the huge rock you only focus on "oh my god, this is so heavy" you don't stop thinking about the rock but eventually you get stronger and then you're able to carry the rock and then you're able to run with the rock. Someday you're going to be running along with the rock and you forget it is there but you always know it is. Some days it feels a little heavier, some days you don't feel it at all.
So why was this week so significant for me besides the anniversary of his death? If you knew anything about my dad you would know he was a diehard cubs fan and if you know anything about me you know that I inherited that as well. And if you know anything about the Chicago Cubs, you know they've sucked for a quite a long time and for 108 years the all elusive World Series couldn't be in their grasp. Wednesday, November 2nd 2016 the Chicago Cubs WON the World Series. Just TWO days before the anniversary of my dads death. And while he couldn't be here to witness it I PROMISE you he was ecstatic from heaven and I'm sure God gave him a pass to be at the game in spirit. To me it seemed so heart warming and overwhelming to have witness something that he would have loved to witness.
Dad, I love you. I miss you. And I especially hope that you and grandpa had a beer while cheering on the cubs win.
xoxo
Nikki
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