August 23
August 23 is a day I honor my beloved father and uncle. I miss them in deeper, more meaningful ways than I could ever imagine.
I’m re-sharing one of my favorite reflections I have ever written about this grief. I read this now and think about the woman I was in that moment in 2021. I was newly postpartum, and my daughter was 4 months old. My maternity leave had just ended. It was the one-year anniversary of my uncle’s death. Our family was changing and growing accustomed to a new order. We were adjusting to a new, half-open world post-pandemic.
This week and especially today, I found myself thinking of their mother, my grandmother Jackie. I thought about her with a toddler, Tom, about to give birth to my father in August of 1946. I wonder what she was thinking. How was she feeling? She was probably tired and hopeful. Maybe she was thinking about her to-do list. Maybe she was missing someone or grieving for another. Maybe she was apprehensive of the world post-war. Above all, I can see her holding Tom’s hand like she always held mine.
It’s these moments that remind me of this curious, universal, human experience that is so achingly beautiful. Maybe it’s what connects us all. It just has to be.
August 23, 2021
Most of us likely have a few dates we’ll never forget. Particular birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. For me, that day will be August 23. It’s a day that for 72 years marked new life. The day my Grandma Jackie gave birth to my father in 1946, shortly after WWII had ended.
Dad died before his 73rd birthday quickly and quietly, drowned out by any noise from the Chestatee River. Nearly two years later, on August 23, 2020, during the height of the isolating pandemic, Dad’s brother and my Uncle, Tom, died, ending his excruciating battle with prostate cancer. What many family members didn’t know was that early that morning, before Uncle Tom took his last breath with his loving family by his side, I found out I was pregnant with Jacqueline. It’s all so extraordinary when you think about it, and I couldn’t make it up even if I tried.
Yesterday was bittersweet for many reasons. My mom, brother, husband, and I shared loving texts with family and friends. Without such support, I’m not sure where we’d all be. Perhaps it’s pointless even to let your brain go there. Honestly, my day was incredibly busy with work, and I welcomed it. Then the day closed in and the sun began to set. I had bedtime duty with Jackie. I thought a lot of Dad and Tom while I was feeding and rocking her. I thought back to the eulogy I read at my Dad’s memorial. I told everyone that the best way to honor my Dad was to live like he did.
Yesterday, I hugged my daughter tight and read to her. I cooked a delicious dinner and enjoyed a good glass of red wine. I supported a worried friend. I had a moment when I laughed so hard I cried with my husband.
I think I did good, and I think they’d be happy with that day too. I love and miss you both, Dad and Tom.
