A Big Week

Dear Dad,

It's a big week this week.  One that I would have talked to you about.  Oh how I miss you.  I think it's a good thing we don't realize how much we'll miss people before they are gone, because we'd act like crazy people and never leave each other alone!

So this week . . .

First, I am going to be on the radio on Tuesday morning.  The folks at 97.3 are being kind enough to interview me to discuss the Walk to Defeat ALS and our Rummage to Defeat ALS.  I am nervous.  I am not a shy person, but a lot of people listen to that station!  Hope I don't sound dumb.  You would say, "Don't underestimate yourself."

Then we have the walk and rummage on Saturday.  We could use a good turn out, so if you could put in a good word I would appreciate it.

We reached the 6 month mark since your death on the 11th.  I can't believe it's been 6 months.  You died on a Wednesday morning.  Monday of that week was the last time we had a conversation.  I went home for a little while.  I said, "I'll be back after while you little dickens.  Love you."  (I called you that sometimes over the years --- I don't know why)  You grinned and said, "Ok, love you too."  While I was gone they started the morphine drip ... I wish I had known ... and you drifted off to a peaceful sleep which is good because your breathing was labored. 

(To the ALS families reading this, what hospice said would happen did .... they said when his breathing got too labored ... when it was to the point of severe panic ... they would IV sedate him and he would sleep.  That's exactly what happened.  It was truly very peaceful.  Those hospice people know what they're doing.)

Over that last night/day I talked to you a lot.  I hope you heard me.  I am so glad that in the months leading up to your death we were all so honest with each other.  I remember early in your diagnosis you said to me, "Do we really have to pretend we don't know where this is going?"  I loved that about you.  Just hit the nail on the head.  Just call a spade a spade. 

I am doing my best to fight this disease.  I promised you that I would go after it as hard as I could.  I hope you are proud & that I am honoring your memory properly.  You are missed.

On a lighter note, we have been thinking about things you used to say.  Here's one, "Well, that will go over like a pregnant pole vaulter."  You were a funny man.

With love, admiration & respect always,

Erin