The Year of Grief

So this isn’t going to be a recipe, more of just a general life update in an attempt to normalize grief and the feelings that come with moving on after loss. If you’re uncomfortable with death and grief, skip this post.

Birthday celebrations with my sister, dad, me, and Patsy.

For those of you who may not know, last summer I lost my dad to a very brief, but intense battle with pancreatic cancer. He was diagnosed in May, and passed away in August. I was able to move home (with Franklin and Wallis of course) to help care for him and help my mom with everything that comes with being a new caretaker. You can read more about that on the CaringBridge we created, but I’ve missed him every day. 

Moving back to my apartment felt like a blur. I was in this isolated bubble dealing with everything while at my parent’s house, and moving back made everything seem so real. How was I supposed to just adjust back to “normal life” while I didn’t know how I was going to take my next breath. I didn’t want to really do anything, but luckily I have an incredible group of friends and a great boss who somehow knew the magical balance of pushing me to do things, and letting me have my space. 

Eventually the holidays and birthdays rolled around and while different, we managed to get through them. It’s been a whole year, and serendipitous timing resulted in my dad’s headstone to be placed on the one year anniversary of his passing. 

The summer is always challenging, I just have flashbacks to last summer and was determined to make this summer “more fun” - it’s even on my 2025 vision board bingo card. Summer in the cities should be fun - and I had a great summer; movies in the park, farmers markets, lake laps, fancy dinners, going out for drinks, and slow mornings that I just had to look out for me and the cats. 

A few weeks ago, that all changed. I got a phone call from a colleague letting me know my boss, Rishabh, had passed away unexpectedly and I just sat in stunned silence. It didn’t seem possible. More than a boss, he was someone who believed in everything I wanted to accomplish. He saw me for all of my potential, and understood all of my faults as opportunities, not shortcomings and he never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. When people would ask if I like what I do for work, I’d always talk about how great my boss was. The work is fine, but having someone who wholeheartedly believed in me was such a privilege that I’m not sure I’ll find again.

I got to know his family, his friends, and together we would work in lock step to accomplish whatever we set our minds to. He’d give me life advice and share stories of his travels, he was one of the first people I told about my dads diagnosis, and made sure I was okay as a person, not just an employee, on each call we had (there were lots of tears). We’d plan trips and he’d tell me about his travels, from the meals to hikes that involved run-ins with mountain lions. I was so excited for him and his family that he took extra time off this summer for fun. But now, how can he just be gone? My last texts with him are about how he wasn’t feeling well, and while I know there’s nothing I could have done, I’m still trying to work through that.  I’ve scrolled through years of texts and Teams messages, zoom recordings, photos, and have listened to the voice recordings and voicemails I have more than I can count just trying to hold on to one of the greatest people I’ve ever known. 

Grief girl summer was back and in the midst of our biggest work event of the year, one week after my boss passed, I received a call that my godmother had passed away. Patsy was my first best friend. From the moment I came into the world, Patsy was looking out for me. Officially as my godmother, but unofficially as a bonus grandma for me and my sister. She taught me how to embrace all that I am, and enjoy life to the fullest. 

Growing up, we would head to Dubuque to visit Grandma and Patsy, so there’s not a core memory I have of Dubuque that doesn’t include her. She would play with us, teach us how to cook, and was always interested in what we were doing - even if that meant listening to two rambunctious kids sing along to pop-hits in the car for several hours. I remember going to Clarke with her, attending church, moving her into a new apartment on the hottest day of the year, celebrating her Golden Jubilee as a BVM, and surprising her for her 70th birthday at Anita and Rosemarie’s house. From my smallest memories to the biggest, Patsy was always there. 

She would always call on my birthday and tell me to not get into too much trouble, and I’d respond that she didn’t have anything to worry about because I’d get into just the right amount of trouble. She proudly displayed pictures of my family on her fridge like we were her own children, bringing us into her family so that Tim, Peggy, and Mary were my family too. 

One of my favorite things was calling Patsy to just chat - it could be about anything and oftentimes covered a vast range of topics from politics, papers I was writing in school, to Food Network TV personalities, to what I was reading, what I was up to with friends, and at times, incredible grief as she helped me process losing my Grandma and then my dad - even when she was processing the losses herself.

Patsy also taught me about patience, friendship, and having a strong, unwavering belief in what I set out to do. She never judged, always laughed, and made sure everything was taken care of before indulging in the finer things. I hope everyone gets to have someone like Patsy who just loved so deeply and without judgement - a true safety net. I’ll look for her in the sun (and in a glass of brandy) and hope that I make her proud every day. I’ll miss her forever, but grateful to have had the most perfect godmother. 

So now I’m sitting here, feeling grateful to have known and been influenced by the three people I lost this year, but also with immense grief and anger that I wasn’t allowed to have more time with them. I have a great group of friends, but these were different, irreplaceable relationships. I also don’t think we talk about grief well, I know I don’t. Instead, I love to share stories of the people who mean the most to me, and look for them in my dreams. They’ve taught me invaluable lessons and I know that I’ll carry those with me, and of course get into some trouble along the way. 

Grief is overpowering at times, love with nowhere to go. Death is a real bitch, the equalizer of life. And me, I’m going to figure it out and keep going because the people I’ve lost and the people I know wouldn’t accept anything less. This blog is a creative outlet that I’ve neglected, but hope to use more of to share stories, recipes, and connection with people wherever they may be. 

Here’s to grief, great memories, and the dark humor that’s going to get me through.