This morning there was no moving slowly, sitting quietly while I take my time drinking my coffee. My husband taking the morning to just be. My dogs stretched out on the sofa enjoying having us home together. I had somewhere I had to go and on my own.

If Dad were here and able to, he would have gone with me. He would have understood the importance. My family knows, it’s just not what they want to do on a Sunday morning. So, I went to meet a friend and co-worker. We had a rally to go to for the Post Office, our way of life is at stake. Our future, our pensions, our retirements are being threatened. More importantly those we serve every day, the ones who depend on us to deliver their medicine, their tax and Social Security checks need us to speak up. Our older customers who we’ve known for years that wait for us six days a week, even if it’s just for a bill in their mailbox.

Oh, how I wish my dad could have gone with me. This was so easy for him. He represented his co-workers with ease, knowing all the rules and having the self-confidence to stand up and speak out. Dad wasn’t worried about the consequences; he just did what had to be done. He was something to watch when he was younger, ready to help make sure people were treated right. Me? It’s not so easy. My parents had strong personalities and were at ease interacting with people. I on the other hand prefer the path of least resistance. My mother says I am always thinking six steps ahead of everyone else. I have already worked out the possible outcomes of any action I take.

It was overcast and grey when I left the house. Rain and cold winds had been forecasted, so I dressed accordingly. As I drove, I thought about dad and the times he did this kind of thing all those years ago. He always seemed to have his voice. It took me forty-five years to find mine and it became stronger the older I got. I met my friend, and we walked where the others were waiting. More people came and mingled around until it was time. Most everyone had on a shirt with the chosen slogan and carried signs that carried similar messages.

There I was surrounded by people, but still alone. I held my sign up just like dad would have done. He never strayed far from my thoughts. The rain started coming down and the wind was cold and blowing hard. At first it was just a few drops but quickly changed over to heavier rain. I pulled up the hood on my jacket to stave off the wind as the strong gusts stung my cheeks. My hands were cold and the sign I held became difficult to hold as the water drops soaked into the cardboard causing it to fall apart in my hands. It was time to go home. As I walked to the car and my friend went her separate way, I thought about that sign. I still carried that wet crumpled up cardboard. I’m not sure why.

Pieces of that sign just kind of disappeared. The parts of my world where my dad lived are slipping away on me. So much of his belongings had already been thinned out before he got sick with Covid. When he passed there weren’t many material things left. The time-share we enjoyed as a family most of my life, was damaged by Hurricane Ian and it’s slipping away too. The cost is too much to keep. It was the last thing I had of my dad. It was where we were all together and happy.

The tattoo I got after dad passed, still has the dragonfly that travels between heaven and earth. The watercolors are still vibrant and full of life. I can still read the “Love you” in mom’s handwriting. However, the “love you more” written in dad’s handwriting is becoming harder to read. The letters are merging together, losing their crispness. Little by little, I’m losing my dad. I’m trying to hold on to him but he’s slipping away from me. The world outside of my heart and my head is erasing him. He’s here in my heart and I keep rerunning the memories in my head trying to keep him here but …

If my Bubbe was still alive, she’d say, “Five schmive! Where were they for years 2, 3, 4? I say, who will remember them in years 6, 15, 20? We will. We must …

My very special friend Mary and I met through a horrifying tragedy. Mary lost her husband Mike and I lost my brother Johnny both from Covid in the beginning of the Pandemic in the New York-New Jersey area. We live 10 minutes from one another in Northern NJ and have been special friends for almost 5 years. We got to know one another after our loved ones died suddenly and unexpectedly. I could not have made it through the grief and trauma without her ongoing support, compassion and love. I am so grateful that we will always be there for one another for the rest of our lives.

Thank you, Mary.

My brother Johnny died in a NY Nursing Home early in the pandemic because of Andrew Cuomo’s very poor judgement and gross negligence. He was getting short term rehab following surgery and was getting ready to be discharged and go home. Cuomo sent active Covid patients into my brother’s nursing home from hospitals when The Comfort, a Navy hospital ship, and the Javits Center, as well as many other prudent options were available.

Johnny caught Covid and instead of going home wound up on a ventilator approximately 8 days after Cuomo’s March 25, 2020 directive encouraging nursing homes to accept hospital patients with Covid. Afterwards Cuomo underreported the deaths that occurred because of his recklessness. Now Cuomo wants to run for Mayor of NYC with the potential threat of Avian influenza. New Yorkers deserve better. So did all our loved ones who lost their lives.

Well, I haven’t been here for a while. This darkness, the sadness, the missing, the wanting. As I sit here with my thoughts, the TV’s on, just for the background noise. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, actually it’s been a little longer than that. Trying to heal through a shoulder injury and all the million details required to get anything done. The way the world has been turned upside down and there is no longer any stability, for anyone.

It hadn’t been easy, but I had been managing. I have to. I’m the daughter, the wife, the mother, the grandmother, the employee, and me. Usually, I find a way to balance everything. Trying to make sure I keep the important people first. There are lights that also help, the two-year old granddaughter who runs to me saying “I love you Gee!” as she throws her arms around my legs. The four-year old grandson, who quietly gently places his head against my arm and in a whisper asks, “Can you play a board game with me?” Their brother, who is always eager to share the new art technique or amazing fact he’s learned, just with me. They keep the shadows at bay. It becomes more difficult as more things pile on. Everyone has had the flu. As hard as it has been, I can’t imagine how horrible it would have been if we hadn’t been vaccinated. It’s reminiscent of Covid and distancing from Mom so she won’t get sick. Even with all of that, I had been coping.

It’s this chest rattling, bone shaking cough that hurts from the strained muscles I can’t get rid of, leaving me crying on the way home from work. The not feeling well, the unknown future, the simple fact that I just want my dad, that’s where I am right now. There’s a brindle-colored 82-pound dog named Hopi, who has placed her head in my lap, with her paws around me as write this, letting me know she’s here. Another light. I know this will pass. I’ll feel better. But right now, I don’t care what the calendar says. I’m six again, reaching up to my daddy. I want him to lift me up in his arms, wipe away my tears with his handkerchief, hug me and tell me everything is going to be okay. I need my dad. I miss him more than anything.