The cure for anything is salt water—sweat, tears, or the sea.
The weekend in Montauk made me feel a little more like myself again. Could not be more thankful.
Dad, Donna Summer is on her way!
We lost my dad yesterday.
It’s been a little more than 24 hours since I found out, and already I am overwhelmed: in the worst way, when the weight of his passing hits me (oh, every minute or so), or when I see my mom cry and I myself wonder how she can live without him.
But also, I am overwhelmed in the best way—by all of the support I’ve gotten, by Rob, who has been my endless source of strength, and by all of the incredible messages I’ve received over the last few months from those of you who knew even the slightest of what was going on.
You don’t know how much that means to me.
This isn’t something I usually talk about.
This is my dad, four months ago and now.
Before his eyes sunk, they used to sparkle.
Before his weight dropped into the double digits, his belly would shake every time he laughed.
And before he went into hospice care, even through years of unrelenting sickness,
I thought he would live forever.
I’m still not sure if it’s easier to know
and to wait
or for it to just happen.
But I don’t know how I’ll ever be ready to say goodbye.
We had five bedrooms to choose from and decided we would rather drag our mattresses onto the balcony so we could sleep under the stars and above the Pacific Ocean. One of my favorite weekends ever.
