[8] posthumous
december 3
For these lyrics I selected from "Let It Be" and "I'll Follow the Sun," for "Sun King," for "Good Day Sunshine," because "Here Comes the Sun" was playing as I turned into the funeral home and for the fact that I hoped for everlasting radiance in the last line of my eulogy and I need it to keep rising through this darkness. Keep on shining, Daddio.
december 12
My first trip on an airplane was at age four to Florida with my parents. And the ocean reminds me of two decades of Cape Cod trips with Dad, who was fascinated by the tide and would move a stick from low tide in the morning to high tide at night just to marvel at the power of the ocean. Who would collect shells every beach trip to bring home and sprinkle amongst the rocks at the front of our landlocked yard in New York. Who would have a fish fry with me every summer on the Vineyard while watching the sun set. Who was the happiest Dad to see the happiest daughter at Disney World, four times in all.
This weekend was action packed with Corey and then Mom and then friends and I'm so grateful that I still chose to go so soon after everything. But in a spout of downtime while driving between Miami and Gainesville, it happened for the first time. I picked up my phone to call Dad to tell the tales from the weekend, as I did every single solitary time I traveled. I can't describe the feeling when I realized that if I dialed his number, I wouldn't hear "Ash-a-lee!" on the other end.
It led me to pull over and I happened to catch this unplanned yet sublime sunset that Dad would have again marveled over, and reminded myself of the unending radiance I hoped his spirit would emit that inspired this tattoo. I can't say I know undeniably where he is. But I hope he was watching me watch that sun set until the good memories replaced the earlier feeling of that excruciating heart drop. I'm sure these moments will continue to shock and to sting, and the downtime will be dark for me. But I'm equally as sure that the sun will return and the tides will turn. I'm beyond thankful that the unexpected emotions forced me into a driving break and that I was able to catch this pretty, unfiltered sunset for Steve ♥️.
'we take a walk, the sun is shining down. burns my feet as they touch the ground. good day, sunshine'
december 21
The (first) photo here is the last photo anywhere I would ever take with my Dad, last holiday season mere weeks before we would receive his fatal diagnosis. And I remember after this was taken, he had asked me to accompany him and walk around the block to admire Christmas lights, as we always did. I offered up "tomorrow night we will, Dad," which for some reason never happened. I don't necessarily regret not going upon the first ask, as I went to meet up with the guy I hadn't seen in ten years who would become my biggest support system throughout, for the most part, the worst year of my life. But I wish I had squeezed in 30 minutes for those lights the next night. And I wish I could transcend to Christmas 2011, the last time I would see my little brother, and drive him to his school Christmas party instead of offering up, "next year I will, Jer."
There would be no "next year" for either of those occasions. There will be no "A Christmas Carol" at Geva Theater this year, where every year at intermission Dad would remind me that his favorite scene was up next. There will be no laughter on Christmas morning from Mom as she reads aloud the National Enquirer that Dad would stuff in our stockings. We're not sure if we're brave enough to play Lennon's "So This is Christmas" or to watch any showings of the TBS 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story, which in years past would have played out in its entirety, Dad's orders♥️. We're unsure of most things this holiday season, and truly looking forward to December 26, then January 1.
My advice is to take your brother when he needs a ride and go for a holiday walk with your Mom or Dad. Christmas was actually the last time I saw three of my grandparents over the years, all four have passed now, and I wish I had hugged them twice as I was walking out the door. So do that, too. And remember, before everyone starts with the "2017 was fucking awful" posts, that even if your 2017 was fucking (sorry, Mom) awful and you have literally stormed out your front door just to scream the F word on some of your worst days, (😳) that your good days most likely tipped the scales over the bad ones. Even mine did. And my best advice? This year, admire the lights.
january 7
Although the win wasn't in the cards for us today, I'm proud of the loyalty that encapsulates Buffalo, and I'm proud that I kept my promise to Dad that if we ever made the playoffs, that I would be there, no questions asked.
When Dad didn't know if he could keep fighting until Christmas this year, he had Mom chauffeur him to the Bills store so he could select gifts for me to open come December 25th from our favorite team. And we threw Dad a Bills party in the hospice to keep up what little spirits he had left. In essence, this was so much more than just a game to me. ♥️💙
Some of the most meaningful anecdotes I heard all year were from those of you who mentioned watching and rooting for our beloved Bills for the first time after reading my posts in honor of Steve ♥️. I hope you can do the same next year, maybe even join #BillsMafia. (But don't sleep on us, because you better believe we're Super Bowl Bound come 2019 😏) 'Twas a good run with a lot of heart & soul, and for one final time of the season, LET'S GO BUFFALO ♥️.
january 11
In our final hour in hospice, I assured my Dad, who had lost consciousness days prior, that I was going home for dinner and would be right back. I told him that I loved him that it was okay to let go and I proceeded to press play on Abbey Road. Before I could fulfill that promise and make it back to his side, Dad had indeed let go.
Being at the studio today where Dad's favorite album of all time was recorded and the cover was shot was surreal and his initials will forever be inked on the sign out front. There'a a bit of comfort knowing that the lyrics of Abbey Road are the last words he ever heard here on earth before crossing over to be in the sky with diamonds ♥️.
'once there was a way,
to get back homeward.
once there was a way,
to get back home.
sleep pretty darling,
do not cry,
and I will sing a lullaby.
golden slumbers
fill your eyes'
january 14
'Living is easy with eyes closed,
Misunderstanding all you see'
In honor of Dad and of Willow, @coreypvg 's 21-year-young cousin who devastatingly lost her long, courageous battle with cancer this past week. Willow, a fellow music lover, was one of the coolest, bravest and most resilient chicks I've ever met who exuded positivity and it was inspiring getting to know her this year.
Here's to hoping our lost loved ones are running around Strawberry Fields Forever ♥️
(Pictured as well: Penny Lane (is in my ears and in my eyes), the resting place of Eleanor Rigby, and the childhood home of the person who fascinates me most, John Lennon).
january 14
When Dad was very close to the end, I began to ask him questions that ultimately turned into a final interview of sorts. His best piece of advice for others was, "Don't waste time. Tell everyone don't ever waste time."
I then asked where he most regretted never getting to. There was a long pause. There were tears. And then, there was this: "Liverpool. The Cavern Club."
This trip is centered around the unparalleled Beatles cover band we saw last night in the venue where the greatest band of all time played three nights a week for years leading up to megastardom.
Wearing Dad's vintage Lennon shirt in the place he most wanted to visit was a surreal experience I'll never quite be able to explain to anyone. When I told Dad my plan to come to Liverpool after he would leave us, he whispered, "I'll be there." And there were moments that I'm pretty damn sure he was♥️.
'the smiles returning to the faces,
little darling,
it seems like years since it's been here,
here comes the sun,
here comes the sun,
and I say,
it's all right'
january 17
One year ago today, I picked up the phone and heard the words that would fracture my soul in ways that are still inexplicable. Something along the lines of, "Something is very wrong. It's likely this is very serious. You should come home very soon." It was. And it was. And I did.
The next day we had a full diagnosis and Dad fought that full diagnosis like hell for 10 months and 2 days and 2 hours. That phone call and most of 2017 continue to haunt my already fractured soul.
So on the one year anniversary, I truly wanted to be some place that I've always truly wanted to be. On a lake in Switzerland where the clouds meet the Swiss Alps as the sun went down. I decided that if I were facing the end as Dad was, I would want the number one place on my own bucket list to be crossed off, as Dad still had many left unchecked and left to see.
Switzerland, the land of three native languages and an infinite amount of incredible characteristics, is as visually striking as I'd always hoped. The city of Geneva is a Heaven on earth and on the one year anniversary of that grievous day, I can only hope Dad and my little brother were watching this moment from the one I can only hope is in the sky.
Switzerland, du bist wunderschön.
Switzerland, vous êtes belle.
Switzerland, sei bella ♥️.
january 24
Dad always found it amusing that I never had much of an interest in seeing the Eiffel Tower firsthand and would bypass Paris altogether on trips abroad. Once, while planning a midwestern road trip, he was puzzled over my excitement to see the fields of Kansas where I half-seriously informed him I was going to go and contemplate life. "You want to go sit in a random field (..I did) but have no interest in seeing the Eiffel Tower? You're a strange one, Ash-A-Lee."
So I told him in hospice that I would finally go see it. And so I finally went and saw it. And I sat in front of that tower and completely-seriously contemplated life and wished I could call Dad and compare and contrast the Eiffel Tower to the field in Kansas because even though it's a ridiculous notion, he had a special Dad way of listening and responding to every anecdote I could throw at him.
This trip was two-plus weeks peppered with anecdotes and experiences I wish more than anything I could share with him. After this moment I headed to a random cafe and 'Let It Be' came on, which many of you know I chose to play at the end of Dad's services. To be completely honest, I don't know if I believe in signs anymore. But perhaps it was one. And in any capacity, it was an incredibly symbolic way to end an incredibly symbolic journey in honor of Dad ♥️.
Au revoir, L'Europe
february 7
There's days where missing dad is hard. And there's days where "hard" is merely a precipice in describing the ache. Back in Austin, post-travels and ahead of some more, I find myself to be a little more found yet a little more lost. Often, the disparity between the two will hit me in the same five minutes. I know what I've always wanted to do: to write and to tell stories. And I know what I'll always want to do: call and tell Dad about the opportunities that lay before me. Some of which actually came about because I publicly told his story with no bullshit attached all year long.
.
Today on the hard-scale was one of those precipice days. And then I stumbled across this email from Dad from 2+ years ago after I wrote some blog posts. Last week, the renowned Do512 offered me a coveted freelance position, writing about the Austin music and social scene. (thx Do512 for accepting a eulogy and stories about Steve as an application instead of what y'all initially asked for 😳). I hope this is simply the precipice in a year where I'll see Dad's email come to fruition. Dad was a writer with a column in his twenties and as I'm about to enter my last year of the decade, I can only aspire for the same. Re-reading this 2015 email was all of the inspo I needed on a day which began as one harder than most. Forever want to make you proud, Dad ♥️
.
(Note: the post-script, which was severed, was Dad chastising me for cursing in my writing. Because at age 26 he didn't want to hear his little girl say "shit." So, at age 28.5, sorry for paragraph one, sentence six, word fifteen in this caption Daddio ♥️😳).
march 15
Prior to yesterday I had never laid eyes on this exchange between @coreypvg and my Dad. To say that it brought about every emotion under sun would be a vast understatement. Since Cor came (back) into my life within weeks of Dad receiving his fatal diagnosis, he never knew Dad outside the walls of my house, the walls of the physical rehabilitation center, or those of the hospice. To say this will continue to break my fucking heart forever is an understatement of gargantuan proportions.
And so does this exchange. I truly did have many plans for that trip home. To drink witches brew while screening the Charlie Brown Halloween special like always, and if Dad was up for it, a drive to take in the fall ambiance. All the while I knew full well it could be his last season. And Dad truly was inspired by Willow, Corey’s 21-year-old spunky and beautiful cousin who never let her cancer define her.
But by the time I got home a week later, we could never fulfill those fall plans. Dad’s health complications had landed him in the hospital where things would only continue to deteriorate. He would never again be inside those walls in our home where months earlier he met the new boyfriend who has become his daughters biggest support system. If you ever want to feel exponentially overwhelmed, try having a job and a life in Texas while constantly going back and forth because your beloved Dad is dying in New York while you’re falling in love with a guy in Florida. 2017 was far from normal. And Corey and I are not a normal 20-something couple. We live 1,000 miles apart and our profile pictures are of those we loved who died entirely too young and my mom met his family at my Dad’s services. These messages were exchanged six months ago and in that time, we’ve lost both Dad and Willow. I imagine them running around Strawberry Fields together, finally having met and finally free.
My father was and will continue to be an absolute legend ♥️And one of our final conversations detailed how grateful he’ll eternally be that I found someone so unrelentingly supportive. And I’m eternally as grateful for getting to be a short chapter in Willow’s book and for Cor being a short but important one in Dad’s. And even though reading this exchange both fills my heart and breaks it and my head is still spinning from the clusterfuck that was 2017, in Dad’s words, we’re all going to keep on keeping on♥️.
