Conserve energy. Keep fear turned OFF.

Lately I’ve been in the whirlwind of maintaining four jobs, wearing different hats, often going from one gig to the next. As I’ve noted to several friends and family members, though, somehow it’s all okay because I have no regrets with leaving teaching writing and it’s just where I am right now. But this new kind of “busy” and go-go-go and intense level of work will need to recalibrate once again. Until I figure it out, I’m staying in the moment as much as I can, enjoying a lot of what I’m doing now, and feeling oh so grateful for financial support from these employment sources month to month.

For as much as I am in the now, I’m still human, and my monkey mind jumps into Fear at times, wondering about “long term” and more financial ease and just more space, overall, for other things I love, like writing and reading. I’m trying to honor the transition and remember that our lives constantly change and reshape. Usually I’m actually pretty zen about it all, realizing that I actually have more money in the bank account month to month, even though my money comes in very differently and even more sparsely than before; I also somehow have more joy and ease.

But there’s the trigger that shows up here and there that sends me reeling back to Fear; it’s what I’ve been calling “mainstream fear,” the ego, the voice that expresses the fear of the masses, such as “you can’t really be happy and make money” or “how can you financially support yourself if you leave a job that’s draining you?” or “sure, you enjoy doing that, but is it really going to sustain you?” One recent trigger for me occurred with a woman I’d only just met; I won’t give any more details to protect the innocent, but in our brief getting-to-know you conversation, she had asked what kinds of work I am doing now, after a very pronounced gasp and look of disbelief when I said I left teaching at the university. When I responded with my list of reiki master, crafter, psychic reader, psychic phone line and nannying roles, she snapped without hesitation, “Well, that’s not sustainable.”

I felt the hit in my stomach and wondered in that very moment, “Is she right?” I took a breath and mustered, “Well, I’m definitely in transition, and these things are what I’m doing now, and I’m making it and have no regrets about leaving my last job.” But I admittedly went into a tailspin for a bit, even later that day, wondering if she was right. Her voice and question reminded me of the thoughts I’ve had myself and represented all of the voices and concerns I’ve heard that would say I and so many others are nuts for living a bit more unconventionally. I know that voice, and I’ve deemed it Mainstream Fear because it’s what stops so many of us from doing things we really want and love to do, all because these things may not fit a popular or safe mold.

I’m realizing so often that when we choose joy and need to leave relationships, jobs, homes and so forth not serving us, there is risk involved; we’re leaving what we know, even if it’s unhealthy. Embarking on new adventures can be scary as heck, but our inner guidance (led by our spiritual posse, God, angels, deceased loved ones, inner knowing, whatever resonates) knows best and will not disappoint. I’m also finding that the more I truly stay Here, Now, In the Present, I am really okay, and I find that’s what always gets me through. No, I’m not being foolhardy and am making sure that financials and basics for me and my dog are handled, and I’m really doing okay. My humanness shines through, though, and while it’s so great to receive mostly support from my friends and loved ones with the risks I’ve taken especially this year, I’m so imperfect and still have lower, uncertain moments, which all seem to be a part of this lovely process. And, yes, I said lovely.

The true magic is that when I’m staying Here as much as I can and really trusting, things are unfolding in ways I’ve never imagined, and I’m constantly assured that it’s all working out. I admit that even I can’t believe it sometimes. While I may feel I’m in transition, this time really just is time–with my choices and experiences. Believe me, I can also be and hear the voice of Mainstream Fear just as easily and find ways to discount or to deter my path. I’ve been there and sometimes even still visit once and awhile. But this notion of positive thoughts and stepping forward despite the Fear is not just some new-age crazy concept, as I may have thought just like some of you (us) do at times.

I’m living in a way now so very different, and when I honor but then step outside of Fear, the Universe provides. I breathe through moments a lot more now and encourage this practice.

Expect miracles when you honor your true work. Remember that the voice of mainstream fear is really just a voice. Make your voice louder.

“If I Die Young,” beautifully sung by a young, talented group called The Band Perry, carries many messages, first in the obvious sense, explained by the lead singer Kimberly Perry: “We wanted to write a song about making the most of whatever time you’re given — whether it’s two years, twenty years or two hundred. We really have gotten to live and love at our young ages. ‘If I Die Young,’ for us, is about if it all ends at this moment, look at what we’ve gotten to do. Whatever time we’re given will be absolutely enough as long as we make the most of it.”

On the ten-year anniversary of 9/11, in the aftermath of several family and friends losing pets in only the last couple of months (six!), recently volunteering for and experiencing the local LAD (Life and Death) Matters Festival, and having had many experiences with loss, this song for me triggers the importance of our families and friends knowing our preferences for funeral arrangements. Sitting in the probate office in downtown Milwaukee at 24 years old, managing all of my father’s affairs after he suddenly died at 48, I wished I’d known my father’s preferences for funeral services and to whom he would have willed certain belongings. I also had the unpleasant experience with the probate officer of being mistrusted and even threatened because I was so young (Probate Man: “You’re agreeing to a serious responsibility and need to do what’s needed to handle your father’s affairs. If you decide to leave the state and take off without handling these affairs, you have a $10,000 mark on your head.”  What?!) . And then there were random people both showing up unannounced at my father’s residence as I sorted his things and several phone calls expressing desires to have my dad’s Harley Davidson leather jacket or stay at his condo for “a little while” or take his stereo.

I wished I’d known whether my dad had wanted cremation or casket burial, especially when one person very close to him shared during his funeral visitation, “You know, your dad really wanted to be cremated.” But I didn’t know. And typically requests in writing (especially willing belongings) or clearly expressed funeral desires have strength and power.

Yes, I did the best I could and honored what I did know of my dad. I notably fought for three main elements:
1. My dad would not be buried in a suit (he’d only worn a suit about five times that I knew of, and he was married three times) but a nice shirt and Harley Davidson vest (with his pins) and black jeans.

2. No, I would not cut his ponytail (that was quite an argument with Grandma Schreck who’d wanted to snip his hair several times while my father was alive, with all due respect and love to my grandmother, rest her soul).

3. Yes, we would include the Harley Davidson bar-and-shield logo on his gravestone, even in a Catholic cemetary (we included an engraved cross, too, which was required).

Dad's gravestone

We’re so afraid to talk about death. And I get that. Given my own experiences and challenges, though, I have talked openly to my family and some friends about my own wishes, and when I’ve taken longer trips, I’ve left a sealed envelope with a typed and signed letter acting as a will of sorts, labeled “If anything happens to Erika…,” mainly for the sake of my dog and major belongings. For some, these kinds of discussions or actions seem morbid or untouchable, and others may even be apathetic, but I encourage these intimate conversations. We’re also easing the lives of loved ones left behind, who need to make decisions on our behalf when we ponder and share our “dying wishes,” which seems helpful and basic. While pre-arranging funerals and wills is something that we see “older” people or terminally ill people may typically consider more, having a lot of loss at a young age, I know life can end at any time and just think of these kinds of things. My dad had the business card of a lawyer in his wallet when he died; when I called the lawyer because I needed lawyer leads for handling his affairs anyway, I learned from her that he was going to call her to set up an appointment to write a will, about a month before he died. Ironic, huh?

In more than half the states, there is a statutory obligation for survivors to honor the written wishes of the deceased, to follow your personal preference. In a few states, your wishes may be over-turned in the case of cremation, however. Even if there is no personal preference law in your state…, it is better to have your wishes in writing than not at all. Courts routinely support all but the most outrageous wishes.

~ Funeral Consumers Alliance [also contains state-by-state laws for funeral rights and preparation]

Another main inspiration for this post is my recent viewing of the movie Get Low (2010), “inspired by the true story of Tennessee recluse Felix ‘Bush’ Breazeale, who planned his funeral while he was still alive, director Aaron Schneider’s dramatic period thriller stars Robert Duvall, Bill Murray, Sissy Spacek, and Lucas Black.” I highly recommend this movie.

When we do have these discussions related to funeral pre-planning, when we have reminders of how unexpectedly death can happen (even today, “9/11″), we also have a beautiful reminder of how we really want to live… now.

No, that's not me, and I don't know who the boy is, either... But these are Underoos!

When I was in the kindergarten and first-grade age range, I wanted to be Wonder Woman. Lynda Carter graced our television in her super-cool getup, and I had matching Underoos. I imagined myself with her bracelets, her Lasso of Truth and tiara, and I appreciated her kinship with animals; even today, I joke with family and friends about my invisible jet. On Saturday mornings, before our mother and step-father were up, my sister and I would play, and often role-play. Said sister would feign I’m-in-trouble, and I would, on cue, run into the room (ex. bathroom, living room), tear off my robe to reveal my Wonder Woman identity, and rush to “help.” Somehow this scenario never got old… until we got hungry for breakfast.

Now nearing 40 (sorry, Mom), I don’t even know if Underoos are available, but I do know they may not come in my size. (Note to dear readers: This is not an invitation, and, yes, I’m really wanting to find a sensational Wonder Woman costume for this year’s Halloween. Just sayin’.) But I had this lovely flood of memories as I thought of superheroes and their superpowers–their gifts. For good reason.

Yesterday was an unusual day in many ways, but the highlight is that I found—not even just one—but two wandering dogs and assured their safe return, with the help of my neighbor, who happened to be outside for both occurrences. I tend to “find” a lot of lost dogs in my neighborhood; first, there are lots of dogs in Boulder, but, second, I live near open space, which I guess supports wandering. But I need to do something when I see these sweet creatures in and out of traffic or seeming thirsty or scared. It is no exaggeration that I’ve found and helped easily 10 dogs in the last couple of years alone, which has included wrangling several dogs too scared to trust strangers. I’ve stopped traffic to protect these furry ones who might be trotting across a busy road, I’ve driven collar-less creatures to the Humane Society and hoped they were micro-chipped, and, overall, I’ve spent a lot of time in these dog-rescue and at times cat-rescue kind of situations. I’ve been called a Pet Guardian, Pet Rescuer and Animal Whisperer.

Having a dog myself, I just can’t walk away from an animal in need. But yesterday had me laughing at the end of the day, especially because after the morning “rescue” (which was quite the adventure with a fearful, young dog who did not want to be leashed; at least he had a collar), I had just told a neighbor about this morning’s adventure—and then saw yet another loose dog on the way back from my evening walk. For the second dog, people were even stopping in their cars, trying to help get the dog (without a collar) weaving into the road and onto the sidewalk, to no avail. But that dog actually followed me home somehow without my knowledge, and when a neighbor mentioned there was a dog just sitting on the back lawn, sure enough. Grabbing the extra leash I keep for these occasions, a water bowl and treats, I headed out on a mission I know well. Sparing you details, yes, this dog found its way back home, and I spoke with the owners. As I joked in e-mail with a friend, I seem to be the Neighborhood Dog Rescuer: Saving and Returning Dogs, One Dog at a Time! (There have been some cats, too.)

So, we all have these neato, low-profile gifts—superpowers—to share with the world and make it a better place. Have you pondered yours? Feel free to share in the comments. Perhaps some of us incorporate these gifts into our actual, paid work; perhaps we’re known for certain qualities and skills that might not necessarily go on a business card. Be imaginative. If you were to make a Superpowers Business Card, what might be one of your titles? I found a fun website to offer some inspiration, where people are creating and submitting “new superpowers” all the time. Enjoy. And know we all have these gifts for a reason. How are you serving humankind in your own, unique ways?

I remember when my mom informed me, post-college, that our family golden retriever had been “put to sleep.” Though I hadn’t lived in that house, lived two hours away, and hadn’t seen our dog Rusty for some time, I remembered my daily love, walks, brushing and other care with her, and I remember suddenly not being able to speak after my mom shared the news and hanging up on my mom. I was overcome, and I bawled.

With my dog Harley, I love him every chance I get; I often can’t pass through a room with him without sharing a pat or hug and some sweet words. I appreciate him every single day but am painfully reminded that, unless I am gone before he is, I will lose him from this physical life at some point. With any living being, we just don’t know when it’s his/her time to leave the earthly plane. Yes, we have this dilemma with people, but not everyone gets the pain of losing a pet; for many of us, it’s as close to losing a child.

There are many things said about our animal friends, including that they’re in our lives for a much shorter time than people because they know how to live and get things in this life right more quickly. They know how to love.

One of the most impactful cards I received when my father passed away had words that I now share with anyone losing a two-legged (traditionally human) or four-legged (traditionally dog, cat and so forth), and I’d like to offer them here.

Perhaps

they are not

the stars,

but rather openings

in Heaven

where the love

of our lost ones

pours through

and shines down upon us

to let us know

they are

happy.

~Inspired by an Eskimo legend 

Look up. The spirits of our loved ones shine so brightly in our midst—and the reminders are so sweetly, often there for us to cherish. Smile and know that they are indeed happy and at peace.

A neat find on-line discusses how this Mercury Retrograde is intended for the following consideration:

Astrological Forecast for August 2011 with Mercury Retrograde in Virgo

How many thoughts have you been spending lately on things which are really essential for your soul and your happiness? Are you taking time out of your busy life to contemplate or just sit in your garden, in the park and smell the roses? How overwhelmed and caught up do you feel in things which need to get done like answering your emails or tending to the endless list of tasks? Working your way through life by checking off your to do lists is not only ineffective but also highly dissatisfying.

Tony Robbins talks about the “Zone” where we get truly creative with solution oriented thinking and where we create the future of our dreams. The “Zone” as I understand it is that inner space of presence we are visiting when we slow down our monkey mind. It is that inner connection to the divine spirit, eternal wisdom and endless possibilities of creation you partake in when you meditate or find other ways to slow down your thinking.

~ Shakti Carola Navran

See the gift in this time. Many sources identify Mercury Retrograde periods as great times for the “re-” things, such as reinvention, revision, renewal, reintroduction, revisitation and reiteration.

Because, earlier this weekend, my big epiphany (with the help of a couple of conversations with friends) was “I’m not that kind of teacher anymore.” Letting go of a nearly two-foot stack of paper of rhetorical theory, pedagogy and composition from my grad school days, I was assured that since I hadn’t looked at these readings in the last 11 years or so, I probably wouldn’t have a future need for consultation, either. As I reviewed my teacher files, I realized that holding on to this or that syllabus or assignments for writing and rhetoric college courses or teaching resources or—gasp!—overhead transparencies with teaching-related content isn’t helpful for me anymore. By clearing that stuff, not only do I have more physical space and a lighter feeling, I’m also officially saying to the Universe, “I am someone else now and accept my new tools and employment.”

How can we all really say yes to what we want? Another example that comes to mind is letting go of pictures of former significant others, in order to allow someone new to enter our lives. Or, we can let go of letters (yes, the handwritten ones) or even e-mail messages that don’t contain words that lift us; many years ago, I finally burned a whole shoebox of letters from former boyfriends and actually had more dates that year. In addition to letting go, we have the Law of Attraction, manifestation and optimism, lovely topics for deeper exploration in other blog posts.

As I prepare for a new life, sans college writing instruction, I’m realizing that I need to really show the Universe and myself that I’m serious about choosing a new path. I’m puttin’ it out there. When we walk the walk, talk the talk, and let go of what needs going, we support what we want and what newness is to be. What a sweet, tingly feeling of creating a container—like an emptied-out file box—to hold something fresh and better!

The shell must break
before the bird can fly.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson

What is your shell that keeps you from growth, excitement, happiness, possibility? Lately, my own limitations have been fear and money, but, without risks, I wouldn’t get to experience so many wonderful changes or opportunities to see what’s better.

The more my space increases from leaving a job that was no longer serving me and actually stifling me, the more I realize how ingrained I became in the comfortable. After a long period of doing something even unhealthy, when we stay in the relationship or job or continue another type of pattern for so long, we can get stuck in the box. Currently, I’m climbing out of my own box, breaking through the shell, realizing with great uncertainty but also some excitement that great things can lie ahead and that a blank canvas is waiting for me to fill it. Scary? Heck yeah.

Fear has been visiting a bit more than I like or care to admit these days, especially in the financial area, as I apply for jobs and maintain practices I love, such as my reiki, my writing and my crafting.  I cycle in and out of the fear, the positive, the process of manifesting, the questions of others. But I’m realizing that the biggest challenge is actually having the gift of doing something totally different in my life, something that will yield a joyful, fulfilled path. This process has demanded that I recalibrate, which has included completely shifting (still working on that) ways to “make a living” and construct a life. I don’t recognize where I am now, but I’m putting one foot in front of the other and staying in my moments as much as I can. Having worked at least two jobs (yes, sometimes more) at once for the last 21 years, I’ve been slowly letting go of an exhausting work model, but it’s all I’ve known. Having worked in an industry for so long (teaching college-level writing) that became comfortable yet toxic, I’ve been working on seeing other viable options for employment. But letting go of these patterns feels wonderful—no regrets. Recalibrating.

But back to breaking that shell. In one of my favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption, Brooks, one of the characters who has been in jail for the longest, is released but is unable to function in the free world after being institutionalized so long, and main characters Red and Andy discuss the effects of being institutionalized and not knowing anything else. Any time we find ourselves in a situation where we are losing our sense of self and unable to see beyond the box—rules, expectations, conduct, control, abuse, strain—blocking our authentic selves and healthy selves, why do we sometimes stay there? It can be so tough to leave the familiar, to trust that things could actually be better, to believe we deserve something better. We need to be brave, or we can stay stuck, and we always have choices.

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud
was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
~Anaïs Nin

How beautiful it is to fly… to blossom… to risk. Beautifully necessary.

One of the main elements that just ate at me when my father first passed away and in years to follow was regret in feeling I could have tried harder with my father. I distinctly remember, months after my dad had died, sitting in the car with my boyfriend at the time after we’d just picked up Chinese food for dinner. Before I could even exit the car, I was flooded with tears and hiccupping speech, saying things like “Why didn’t I just get Chinese food with my dad more? Why couldn’t I just get over it and visit him at the bar where he usually was? Why didn’t I visit him more?” and then sinking into utter regret and sadness for the next hour or so.

We all “could” have done and “could” do better. Sure. But one of the biggest suggestions I’ve given to people struggling in some way currently with a father, mother or other family member still in this physical plane is to say what you need to say do what will yield the fewest regrets for yourself. Regret, while for most cannot be avoided completely, is the killer for many in the grieving process and one of those nagging aspects even years later. I can easily go there but choose to shift my thinking and instead somehow talk to or honor my father and other loved ones I’ve lost.

Whether we’ve lost someone suddenly (that “no notice” feeling) or had some time with a dying loved one, regret still somehow can creep in. An important point here is that saying what needs saying and doing what needs doing for your greatest peace doesn’t mean you necessarily resolve everything or even anything in the relationship, but your peace and aim for no regrets are healthy goals. On the last Father’s Day I had with my own father, a man struggling with alcoholism and women and relationships with his children, I didn’t know it was my last Father’s Day with him. But after much therapy and increased personal power, I mustered up enough certainty and necessity to tell him, “Dad, sometimes you were really a sh*tty father.” Yes, on Father’s Day. His response? “I know.” But from that point on, I was lucky and admit that our relationship only improved, and somehow it was out, and we were okay—and still imperfect. There were even more “I love you’s” and more phone calls.  Yes, I lost him within the year and didn’t know I would, but I had made a huge step in telling him what I needed and felt such relief.

Not an ideal story, and many of us have those. And I sincerely loved my father, warts and all. Now that he’s on the other side, he is such a guide to me, and more than regret I feel gratitude and love—and even a lot more understanding. We’re all so friggin’ human, and sometimes just by saying and doing what we need (even if it’s silence or inaction) that brings us the most—finally, if anything, we have peace within, which is the key to so much in this life. Right?

I’ve learned that we can’t beat ourselves up, getting stuck in the “oh, I shoulda-woulda-coulda done that.” Two weeks or so before my dad died, he’d invited me and my siblings to a Milwaukee Wave (soccer) game, but I had to work. Something inside told me I should maybe see if I could switch with someone, as this invitation was rather rare and precious, but I missed the game and time with Dad. I’m glad my brother was able to share that time with him, though. But that’s an important thing I learned: There is always more time we could have had and time we especially wish we’d had. In trying to sincerely live in a way when we’re in integrity, though, we minimize the regret, no matter what the relationship (even if, like with some of my friends, there is minimal contact and some really tough stuff for serious reasons).

Whatever your relationship with your living or deceased loved ones, enjoy what you can, realize the important things and live for the fewest regrets possible, no matter what that means for you. I just can’t resist: With the theme of regret and practicing discretion, I need to leave with some words from one of my father’s favorites, singer Kenny Rogers: “You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em/Know when to walk away and know when to run.” Don’t hold onto—just fold on—the regret.

© 2011 Erika M. Schreck. All rights reserved.

Sometimes it takes awhile to realize that something, such as a relationship or job, is just not worth it or working anymore. It can be easier to stay with what’s comfortable and what we know, but sometimes we stay too long. I really lost sight of true balance, missing out on so much sleep, so many social events and so much time for my own well-being. Yes, I definitely loved many aspects of teaching writing to college students; I wouldn’t have stayed so long in it if I didn’t. But when the signs started intensifying, and I really had to be honest with myself, I realized that even without another job lined up, even with no savings, even with leaving behind the familiar, it was time to move on. And I stayed committed to my decision, resigning this semester.

And then wonderful things started happening! Despite an intense semester of non-stop grading, ridiculous lack of sleep, signs that continued to get louder and even some icky student encounters (making me all the more grateful for the respectful, genuine, hardworking ones), I noticed my reiki practice growing. Clients—especially new ones—had been referred to me and were e-mailing and calling. I also experienced an increase in orders for my bath salts, eye pillows, crocheted newborn caps, all-natural and organic soap, and essential oil sprays; more interest in my tarot and totem animal readings; and even inquiries for my freelance editing. I could only smile, realizing the Universe was providing, especially once I’d finally decided to take the leap of faith and accepted what I needed to do to leave a toxic environment. There are rewards for taking the risks and doing what we know we need to do.

I’m feeling more like myself. Last week, during one of my reiki healing sessions, as I cradled the beautiful, bald head of a woman in the midst of chemotherapy treatments, I felt teary just realizing that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing and that I am making a positive difference—for this amazing, lovely, indomitable woman and for so many others. Reiki has changed my life and is allowing me to change the lives of others, and I am in such gratitude for this gift and for my clients. My energy has returned, and I’m slowly transitioning to lighter, brighter days. It was time to jump, trusting the net would be there. And one interesting, great aspect of how things are unfolding is that I’m completing my reiki master training, which will allow me to teach and attune others in reiki. Perhaps I’m not completely done with teaching, and I didn’t really think I was; I just needed a new audience and a new path.

I find it fascinating how many colleagues have said, “I wish I could leave, too.” I’ve heard many kudos and praises for living the dream and taking the risk and following [my] passions and dreams. And then I hear the reasons for why they can’t, yet. We all have our own timelines, and I do not judge those who express these sentiments, but I only hope that when any of us reach a point where peace and joy have diminished, we can choose the lighter, brighter days. Why wait? (Note: With the latter question, I’ll insert a plug here for my new friend Kristen Moeller and her book Waiting for Jack; Kristen often asks this question and is so inspiring.)

While I’m still taking one day at a time and refraining from freaking out about the future, I am here now, right where I’m supposed to be.

Dad and the '35 Ford Coupe he built from a shell

Today marks the eleventh anniversary of my father’s death. While it’s always kind of an odd day, I do okay, overall, especially with more years passing since the original day my dad died. But it still hits me and makes me feel a bit funky. And I always make it a priority to honor him in my own way.

On this day, April 3, 2011, while I have a lot of work to do for my teaching job, I wear one of his Harley Davidson T-shirts, I’m writing this blog post, I’m working on writing the book that actually deals with my dad; and, later, I will crochet, watch the movie Elizabethtown (thank you, ma sista—a great, well-done movie dealing with the main character losing his dad and dealing with the planning and emotional journey to which I can so relate) and have a beer with dinner. I’ve also lit candles today for Dad. Overall, I’m keeping to myself today because I can.

Anniversaries are important days, whether they mark weddings, accidents, sobriety, deaths or our birthdays. I know that I need to officially commemorate important events like the anniversary of my father’s passing. It was a huge day for me back in 2000, a day that completely changed my life, both in positive and difficult ways. I was young (24-turning-25), I was stunned, and I was overwhelmed (with handling the estate, funeral and so forth).

Our body carries so many memories, and I’ve found in my own life and with others that more traumatic events definitely stay with us. As these anniversaries get closer, it’s amazing that even when we’re not focusing on or realizing the calendar day, our bodies know. For the last week, I’ve felt more fatigued, felt a bit more irritable and have had writing cravings. On a brighter note, my dad has been sending some signs he’s around more than usual, as well. A good Boulder friend has shared with me the cycles she’s witnessed in her adopted girls (ages seven and four), who have experienced much trauma in their lives; while my friend knows certain events and the actual dates, the girls don’t, yet my friend notices her girls “going through major stuff” around these significant times. While our society doesn’t always allow us to take off for certain days that may just be tougher in nature, it’s up to us to find ways of taking care of ourselves in the midst of needing a bit more tender-loving-care. Last year, for the tenth-year anniversary of my dad’s death, I spent the weekend in beautiful Buena Vista, CO, at a bed and breakfast with my dog, prioritizing hiking, writing and being.

Today I’ve received three calls and one e-mail message from loved ones simply expressing they’re thinking of me, which I appreciate so very much. Holidays, birthdays and anniversary days can be difficult to understand or even remember for many people, especially if they haven’t yet lost a parent or if the day is just not on their radar. Losing a parent is like joining a club (often unwillingly). Once you’re in the club, you get things that can’t be understood until experiencing the death of a parent—and not that I’d wish the latter on anyone, though we experience it at some point, of course. These death anniversaries just make me feel a bit more sensitive, but also closer to my father. While these days can be a little sad for anyone, I so encourage doing something that helps celebrate the person and helps us feel a little better and more peaceful—and remembering that the people we’ve physically lost really are always with us. Dad, I know you’re here, and I love you and miss you.