Oh 2017, you’d think I’d be ready to kiss you goodbye and slam the door as you leave. I’d think to myself good riddance and wash my hands clean of you. But the truth is, I’m not so sure I’m ready for you to leave.

This was a prominent year in my life. This was the year of hard work and overcoming BIG hurdles. Adam and I started the year with a layoff, a very sick cat complete with vet bills, and a lot of stress. But we made it out together. Not to mention it was “all hands on deck” for the whole year supporting dad. Driving to appointments, cooking meals, staying at the hospital with him, being there in every way you can be. We were all in. And now we’re about to start over knowing what we worked so hard towards didn’t go the way we hoped. In 2017, those hopes and prayers are alive. My dad is alive. The battle is still uphill.

A new year brings the reality of moving forward and I already know that will be hard. All I ask of 2018 is to be gentle. You don’t have to be fantastic or the best year yet, lets just tread lightly and we’ll be cool.

So 2017, while I can’t be entirely thrilled you happened, it is bittersweet that our time is coming to an end. Here’s to you, 2017 – you’ll be in my heart always. ❤️

His name is Grief. Yes, Grief. The little foe who takes over all brain capacity in an instant. The tricky one who doesn’t ask if now is a good time or if he should come back later. The fool whose goal is to draw out the tears. And unfortunately, sometimes he’s the only one who understands that he’s actually needed and we become partners in this mess.

I’ve become quite acquainted with Mr. Grief in these past few months. And trust me, we have met before. But only briefly because healing came a bit quicker. It seems this time the sadness’ stay has no end. Very much like any of your roommate’s boyfriends who decided he could move in on your couch and eat all of your food without invitation (we all had one of those, right?).  I know I have a year of more goodbyes ahead as we plan my dad’s final resting places. So here is a glimpse into the life of active grieving as I’ve come to know it.

Grief has become my shadow. Walking and driving with me everywhere. We go to work, we visit with friends,  we have dinner with my husband and I don’t think he’s a fan, and we’ve now experienced two major holidays. But I dare not introduce him to anyone, because I wouldn’t wish his heavy presence on any of my loved ones. He is always there, playing his favorite game of hide and seek. Though in this game, I usually wake up hoping to not find him. And then he rears his ugly head just when I didn’t need it. Just when I thought I had some normalcy. Reminding me that we aren’t anywhere close to beginning to heal. That’s usually the hardest, the sneak attacks. The unplanned visits. He can cause moodiness, irritability, disinterestedness, sobs, anger, and exhaustion. He’s a long list of side effects to a pill no one wants to take. At times he can cut me to my core and become completely debilitating.

“Didn’t your dad love this movie? Sure wish you could text him to let him know it’s on…”

“What was that recipe? You can’t remember and now he’s not here to ask….no one knows the ingredients, its gone. Why didn’t you take him seriously when he said he’d teach you?”

“These song lyrics just said the word ‘dad’…..ready to cry now?”

While these are the hardest moments in my life thus far, what I have learned is that Grief can have a sweet side. Grief sometimes gifts me a memory or the sound of dad’s voice and it can be comforting. Truly, if life hadn’t been so great with dad, I wouldn’t be missing him so badly. So BIG. That’s why I don’t turn Grief away. I’m angry when he ruins my plans, but I let him stay. Usually there’s a reason and a memory coming in with the assist and I remember again how lucky I was in the first place. I will always wish my dad were here physically, but he is here spiritually. My dad is in Heaven, living his best life. Walking, running, flying, and hopefully playing on God’s softball team. So while I hurt, while I deal with the pains of a goodbye said too soon, I can be so grateful that he isn’t in any pain. He’s no longer asking for his dignity back, wishing for relief of constant pain, and for his independence. He’s living again.

For dad, I can deal with the pain. I can be Grief’s newest addition to that long list of contacts in his iPhone X.  Yes, an iPhone X, because what Grief wants, Grief gets. And with each unsolicited call for tears, I’ll know that it’s because of a hundred sweet memories in the past and one day he’ll delete me from that contact list.

Until then, Grief and I will be our own version of The Odd Couple. I’ll be the funny one of course, but always waiting for him to move out and move on. He’ll be the one causing trouble, never paying rent, but somehow come off as lovable and good for me. And it looks like this program has renewed seasons for the unforeseeable future. Stay tuned…

 

Well, Christmas is fast approaching, my friends. And I’d by lying if I said I was as excited as I usually am. Everyone said the holidays are hard while grieving, but I had no idea it would be like this. So conflicted to love the season you’ve been raised to cherish and to feel such sadness knowing that this is now an unknown territory and will never be the same.

Dad loved the holidays. It was an awesome time to be in the Frost house. Our home was full of the Christmas spirit through music and decor, activities and traditions. We’d always have a shuffle of our favorite Christmas CD’s playing in the background. Amy Grant, Harry Connick Jr., Point of Grace, Manheim Steamroller, I could go on. There’s a Christmas song by Amy Grant called Heirlooms and I’ve listened to it differently this year. I’m now truly understanding what I’m missing and at the same time what I’ve been blessed to have in my life.

The song says the memories are “all that I come from, and all that I live for, and all that I’m going to be. My precious family is more than an heirloom to me“. And I now think of the 29 Christmases I had with Dad and how special he made it. An heirloom of memories he gave to me every Christmas. Between Christmas cookie decorating, an annual viewing of The Muppet Christmas Carol, and usually tickets to see a Christmas concert by one of our favorites who were rolling through Atlanta, December was always so fun thanks to my Dad. He knew how to ramp up the season and make it special.

To me, I still believer there is nothing more magical than Christmas Eve. I LOVE Christmas Eve. We’d always start with church in our new Christmas dresses, followed by going out to dinner, and then driving around to look at everyone’s Christmas lights. Excitement was building for my sister and me, knowing that somewhere around the world, Santa is delivering his presents. We’d get home and knew we got to open two gifts. One from Dad who always picked our Christmas jammies and one my sister and I would exchange. Usually a new Christmas stuffed animal to join us in our Christmas Eve slumber. We’d get one last look at the Santa tracker online and off to bed so he could come to the house. What an amazing night celebrating Jesus’ birth, celebrating our family’s love for one another. Christmas is so beautiful in the eyes of an adolescent, but it’s truly led by example of our parents. How lucky was I?

This year has obviously felt much different. I’ve watched Muppet Christmas Carol with tears in my eyes. I’ve listened to the same songs with a ping of pain in each heartbeat. I’ve shopped for presents for everyone…but him. It’s hard, I think it’s always going to be hard. But what I can cling to are the memories. I can carry on the heirlooms, because they are what made me into the woman I am today. And I can hope that doing so will hurt less and less and eventually fill my heart with love once again. Thanks to my parents, I’m a woman who knows God’s Love, the love of family, and how special the Christmas season is.

To you and yours, I wish you a Merry Christmas. May you create your own memories that become more than an heirloom to you. ❤ 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmBEwKgfnik

HERO: noun, a person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities.

We all have heroes. Whether we know it or not, there’s always someone to look up to, whose actions leave you in awe.

Kids look up to the caped citizens fighting crime on TV. Teenagers believe their celebrity crush can do no wrong. And then all of a sudden, you’re an adult. An adult who realizes that the real heroes made sure the world kept spinning while you were living carefree and playing in the backyard. Our Military, Policemen, Firemen, Teachers, and…yes, our Parents.

Luckily, it didn’t take until adulthood to know I hit the hero jackpot. Don’t get me wrong, I had that teenage attitude, but not very often. I’ve really always known just how much my parents did for me. I distinctly remember understanding the daunting cost of dinner for a family of 4 when I was in college and could barely afford meals for just me.  I would then get a couple of pizzas and drive to my parents’ house and surprise them with dinner. It wasn’t fancy, but I wanted them to know I appreciated the 18 (and counting) years of care they gave to me.

But this summer took the meaning of hero to a whole new level…

Long story short, kidney failure brought us to this summer. Dad had been on dialysis and rocking it for 2 years. 4 exchanges a day just became the norm for all of us. Nobody minded that we’d schedule dinner and a movie after the 7pm exchange. As Dad always said “you gotta do what you gotta do”. And we did. We really did.

April came, we had a wonderful Easter dinner of smoked steaks prepared by Adam and Dad on his new smoker. Dad realized that week that he had a blister on his foot that wasn’t healing very well from his cardiac rehab workouts. He was admitted to the hospital to see what they could save. The kidney disease had gotten to him first though, caclifying his veins and preventing blood flow in his legs. It all happened so fast. Dad went through THREE amputation surgeries. Why, you ask? For us. For my mom, for my sister, for me. His love for us was what was going to get him home. His girls. Every decision, every painful move and PT session, every medicine that made him sick and set us back…that was for more time with us. He was so worried about me and if I’d have a good birthday, but never for himself entering a new way of life. He fought hard to get discharged and come  home in July. Being entirely dependent on his family was a new normal, but we were all up for the challenge. Dad endured so much, but Mom did also. As the caretaker, that’s a whole other ball game. And I’ve never seen someone do it so selflessly, so flawlessly, and so fiercely all at once. Working from home and taking care of Dad, then when Dad went to bed, she’d catch up on more work. Two heroes in their own right are always better than one. They were the A-team.

Little by little, Dad’s health deteriorated as we moved into autumn. We all hated to see it, no one wanted it to be true. His sense of humor never wavered. College football was a never-ending countdown to get him through the week of oxygen chambers and dialysis treatments. He kept fighting and then he would fight some more with what he had left to give. Dad ended up in the ER on September 27th with the decision to be made of surgery #4 to the hip….or hospice. And my hero faced that decision head on. He faced it courageously and steadily. Again, he did the hard work for us. He declined surgery and further dialysis treatments. He had fought until it was clear that he couldn’t anymore. I watched him for 6 days effortlessly say goodbye to friends and to us, it was just the next step in his journey. And then I was there when he won his fight to get to Heaven. He left this Earth on October 3rd and I believe he ran through the pearly gates, because he could again.  And since October 3rd, I’m selfishly sad, and often heartbroken,  but I have mainly felt gratitude. I am so grateful now and forever for Dad’s gift to us of time. I’m grateful that I know he’s no longer in pain or suffering. I’m grateful for the example he set of what a good man is and should be. I’m grateful for every laugh, every text, every fiber of his being in my life.

I challenge you all to find the hero in your life and learn from them. What is it about them that you are most grateful for?

I’m grateful for my new guardian angel. For my Dad, my hero. ❤

 

 

 

It’s been 8 weeks since my dad passed away…

Sometimes I can’t even believe I’m writing those words. Some days I truly believe I can pick up that phone and start a witty banter of text messages like always. I still feel like I can walk through the doors of the house I grew up in on a Saturday and he’s made his football spread of food, ready for the Ohio State Buckeye game. He looks at me and says “hey, just in time!”

And then my brain presses play on the recording of the worst 6 days of my life. A phone call, ER, hospital…hospice.

For those who don’t know me, I’m Kara. I’m 30 and happily married to my husband, Adam. We have 2 fur kids (more on this in the future). And lately life has been a roller coaster, Which brings me to creating A Father’s Daughter. Here I can keep my dad’s humor, his beliefs, his teachings, his ideas, his battles, and his victories. Here I can keep them close, but give them to the world at the same time. Here I can tell his story.

It’s been 8 weeks….but we’re just getting started.