Long Time, No Blog

I know, I know. I said I'd write, but the truth is I continue to struggle for the right words. I should be documenting all things Sylvie-chronicling achieved milestones, detailing new discoveries, sharing precious pictures. But with every new development, every first revelation, every adorable photograph, comes despair; A reminder that Sylvie's sweet grandpa isn't here to revel in those moments. Sometimes my conflicting emotions of elation and devastation are so overwhelming. How do I appropriately celebrate life in spite of death? I often find myself amidst an internal struggle of guilt. Guilt for feeling a new mother's joy and then guilt for feeling a grieving daughter's sorrow. Everything that I thought I knew about grief "before" has turned out to be myth. For example, the "Stages of Grief" are non-sense. I'll admit I've never read any Kubler-Ross, but from what I gather she describes grief as a process that eventually ends. I can tell you that I've been in the midst of several stages simultaneously. I've even "progressed" down the line and found myself right back at the beginning. And I doubt I'll ever recover. I am forever a different person. In my head I have divided my life into two time periods as I'm sure many people do after experiencing a major life-altering event... graduations, weddings, births, funerals. Every memory I have I file it into a category of "before daddy died" or "after daddy died." Everyone talks about how difficult the "firsts" are and, no doubt, they're absolutely right. But sometimes those firsts aren't as obvious as you might think. Of course the first Christmas without my dad was difficult, but so was the first time I passed by that tree. Or the first time I ate apple pie. Or the first time I went to Lowe's. I actually have an uncanny ability to relate EVERYTHING-even the most distant, trivial things-to my dad. I'll read an article on CNN about recalled Toyotas. My dad drove a Toyota. I'll see a commercial for Dancing With the Stars. My dad watched Dancing With the Stars (I know, right?!). I'll be slicing tomatoes for dinner and remember my dad asked me to water his tomato plants when he was in the hospital. And then he died. And so did his tomato plants.