Pictures

My awesome brother, Ryan, bought us a flickr photo account. Think he's trying to tell us something? It's kind of a hodge-podge of pictures for now, but we'll eventually get around to organizing it. In the meantime, enjoy!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/thecresswellchronicles

~Mommy

P.S. Can you tell who dressed Sylvie the day she was sportin' her green Daniel Johnston "Hi, how are you?" onsie, black leggings, goofy pink hat, and purple socks? I'll give you a hint... it wasn't me.

Letters Unread

As I try to make sense of my daddy's untimely death, I've been having this internal struggle with spirituality. I'm not a religious person, by any stretch of the imagination, and that's no secret. In fact, anyone who knows me well is probably laughing by now. I hesitate to label myself, but if I had to I probably most closely identify with agnosticism. How can I possibly confirm or deny the unknown? I do, however, have a better understanding and appreciation of people who turn to faith in times of despair. I've been surprised, shocked even, by some of my recent thoughts. I find myself constantly questioning. Where is he? Does he see Sylvie's infectious smile? Can he hear me weeping? Or did he just cease to exist? Either way, I'm finding comfort in the most unsuspecting ways, even if they are fictional... Along with my dad, a piece of me died that day in July. I don't mean that in a melancholy, bemoaning kinda way. You see, my dad didn't ever like to be alone. He was a people-person. If you knew my dad, you knew him as a social butterfly. I often dreaded going anywhere with him as he would inevitably run into someone he knew, turning our quick trip to the hardware store into a lengthy reunion. Moreover, he could walk into a room full of strangers and come out with life-long friends. My dad was never alone and he's not now either. If part of me is gone, then it must be with him, keeping him company. Where ever he is. Likewise, that missing piece of me is not empty. Rather, it is full of memories and my daddy's love.

~Daddy's Little Princess

P.S. In a desperate attempt to stay connected to my the man I so dearly adored, I began writing to him. You can find a collection of letters unread here... Dear Daddy

Circle Of Life

Early Wednesday, July 22, 2009 my sweet daddy laid to rest. A few days prior, we brought him home from the hospital when it became clear that there was nothing more the doctors could do for him. Rather than continue invasive treatments, my daddy decided that he wanted to begin hospice care in the comfort of his own home, surrounded by family. That Monday he called Ryan, Uncle Matt, and Aunt Lisa to ask that they fly in. He also called other family members and friends to say goodbye. It was so surreal at the time and it continues to be. That night we gathered around him and stood vigil as he quickly deteriorated. We held hands, stroked his head, cuddled, shared memories, laughed, and cried. Unfortunately, the pain became unbearable and he asked that we call 911 for an ambulance transport to the hospital with the hopes of getting some relief. We were only at Metroplex for about 10 minutes before he took his final breaths. I wish that I could say he went peacefully in his sleep. The days following are all a blur. Then, on Monday, July 27 family and friends from near and far gathered for the most impressive service. Chris delivered a phenomenal eulogy, Ryan told silly stories, I read my Father's Day poem, Ronny sang two beautiful songs, friends shared special memories, and Scott escorted daddy to his final destination. If it had to be, his memorial far surpassed anything he could have imagined. The words people used to describe my dad are not common of many. My dad was inspiring. Truly inspiring.

Since that day, nearly two months ago, I have sat down to write this "first" entry countless times. I'm able to detail events that took place, but I can't yet articulate my emotions. Mere words can't seem to do my intense feelings justice. Because of that, I've been avoiding. Yes, this blog is primarily about my precious baby girl, but Sylvie is not independent of the rest of my life. Her birth is not mutually exclusive of my dad's death. My mom always told me that dying was a part of living. She's right. Sylvie's existence is symbolic of the proverbial "circle of life." His life ended just as hers begun. With that said, I felt like I couldn't move forward with this blog unless I addressed one of the most significant (THE most traumatic) events of my life. I've since decided that I don't have to, nor can I, sum it up in a single post. Why did I ever think that was necessary? I'm still feeling. I'm still hurting. And that pain will continue. I will never get over losing my dad and I will always miss him. But it's time for me to start therapy. My therapy. I will begin writing again.

~Daddy's Little Princess