July

I’ve been having so many emotions and feelings. Feeling this new way of being, without my dad here. He died in February, 2.22.22 the worst day of my life, after witnessing him fight like hell to beat Acute T-cell Lymphoma. He was the most positive person I’ve ever known, and he loved me so much. He showed me that in every encounter. We spent a lot of time together here in Vermont, especially in the summer. Especially in July. We would have dinner together at least once a week, usually more. We’d go to the Townsend Auction and load the back of his truck up with antique furniture and random bits and bobs we got for a dollar. We would occasionally go fishing together, although I usually left that up to him. He liked to go early and I liked to sleep in. And to be honest, I don’t really like fishing because I don’t want to put bait on a hook, or take a hook out of a squirming fish’s mouth. I wish I went with him anyway. I don’t get any of those opportunites back. He always had my favorite meals prepared before I came over. Quite a few times he had a birthday party for me. July 31st. He never forgot except for last year, when he was not well, and in the hospital, and on the verge of death. I didn’t think he would make it to my birthday last year, but he miraculously did, and so I was not upset that he didn’t throw me a birthday party. We would go to estate sales and tag sales. We would drive around looking for them. He would call me up and say, “Lauren, I found someone who is trying to get rid of all their terra cotta pots; you gotta come up.” And I would and we’d load up the truck and then go get lunch somewhere. If there was a parade or music, he would go. Sometimes I went with him but a lot of times I didn’t. I will never get those opportunities back. I was Daddy’s little girl and he was my partner in crime. I’d say, “I need you to make these shelves for me.” And before I pulled in the driveway he would have most of the wood already cut. We had a little woodworking business called Fajita’s Workshop. It was in the garage, and it was named after our yellow lab Fajita. She was mine orignally, I raised her to be a Seeing Eye Puppy when I was 17. She decided she wanted to be a family pet instead of a guide dog so we took her back, and she became my dad’s. The summer she died, we grieved separately and missed her together. It’s so important to grieve. I am in it so deeply, and it affects everything in good and bad ways. Sometimes I get angry. I’ve yelled at friends and family. Sometimes I’m happy for days on end. Sometimes I cry in public. I do my best, and then I look at the news. Then I think of the injustices all around us. And so much violence. And so much beauty. And so much love.