BY JESSIE SLOMIANY I remember the moment I lost my mom. She was sitting in front of me, but she was gone. I had just told her that we decided to name our son after her dad, my grandfather. She stared at me blankly – looking more through me than at me – and said, puzzled, “My dad?!” I could see the wheels turning in her head, trying to think of who her dad was. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time that she demonstrated this intense state of confusion. She had been diagnos
I’m only a few miles out from the cemetery and it begins to rain. The day is gloomy, so this isn’t quite a surprise, but I question myself and why I hadn’t thought to check the weather before I left the house. I glance over to the floor of the passenger side of the car and notice an umbrella slightly peeking out from underneath the seat. I feel relief. I know there will be some waterworks when I get to Mommom’s grave— it would’ve been her 96th birthday today—and I don’t need
BY SAMANTHA COSTA My father died 12 years ago. TWELVE! Yikes. Recently, his best friend since childhood passed away. I wanted to attend the viewing and the funeral, but I was sick during that time. I thought about what it would have been like if I did go. Would they even recognize me? I haven’t seen them in years. I felt sad for the family, but I didn’t feel much myself until later in the day. I realized it’s another connection to my dad that’s lost. It’s gotten to the point
When my dad passed away, there were many parts of my life that were completely altered, and many experiences in my future that I knew would never be perfect without him: my birthdays, Christmas, Sundays watching the Eagles. One of the biggest things that loomed over my head was my engagement and wedding to Marc.
We had moved in together a mere 4 days prior to my dad’s heart attack. We knew our futures were together and what those special occasions would look like played lik
I have a friend, Joan, who is extremely talented at anything involving art. She can draw, she can paint, she can sculpt. She can even do nail art as I learned my junior year of high school when she painted my nails before a school dance.
For someone so talented, her art isn’t the basis of her career. Instead, she kicks ass in the marketing department for an international company. Her artwork captures a variety of styles— portrait, landscape, inanimate objects— and could be
A few weeks ago, an old friend reached out to me saying that she had seen SSFYL and needed advice. She had just lost her uncle in a similar way to how I lost my dad and wanted to know what she could do for her three cousins, his daughters. It's a type of question I've been getting asked frequently.
Long story short—there is nothing you can do to completely take away the person’s pain. Don’t put that pressure on yourself! You are not expected to solve your loved one's troubl
It is not lost on me that I have yet to publish a blog detailing May 22nd, 2017. That became a harder task than I had anticipated.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it on the anniversary a few weeks ago like I had planned. Instead, I spent the day moving in slow motion, actively trying not to break down with each breath, knowing that if I let myself go there, there was no coming back. To top it off, it was a gray, rainy day. The skies were as miserable as my heart.
Logic vs. Emotion: a match-up you will hear me speak about many times.
I know, logically, there is no direct correlation between my actions that week and my dad’s survival. But, emotionally, you can’t tell me otherwise. Not then, and not now.
Just yesterday, I broke down in the middle of my FlyWheel class (sorry 11:30am class!). I pedaled as fast as I could, but I still could not hit the RPM the instructor demanded.
“You can’t do it. You can’t hit that number, just like yo
Remember being in school growing up and thinking to yourself in the middle of a lesson, “Whyyyy the hell are they teaching me this? I’m never going to use this information outside of here.” I did that especially with math. “I want to be a journalist,” I thought. “I’m not even going to use algebra in my career.”
Next thing you know, I’m in my twenties, setting up equations to figure out how many bottles of Tito’s vodka I need to buy for the upcoming bachelorette party I’m att
I woke up to another sunny day on Wednesday, May 17th. Unbeknownst to me, I wasn’t appreciating it the way I should’ve been at the time. Instead of embracing the beauty of the city lit on fire by the sun’s rays, I groaned at the busy day ahead.
I started to get ready in the new apartment I shared with Marc as of a mere four days before. An exciting time of our life for sure. But it is not excited I feel this morning; it’s annoyed. I stand at the sink, brushing my teeth, anno
He wore a suit. It was gray and a little bigger on him than it should’ve been.
He wore dress shoes. The kind that clacked against the floor as he paced the room.
He was fidgety. Constantly checking his phone, or his watch, or poking me for fun.
He wore his bluetooth ear piece. Answering calls mid-sentence with a swift “Gary D!”
He got up and looked out the window, as if to ponder a million thoughts with a single glance.
I never understood the depths of what was goin
I had wanted to visit my father's employees for a while. After all, they were doing everything in their power to keep the family business, and its reputation, afloat. Conshohocken is a small town and rumors about what would happen to the properties, the listings, and the building began flowing like the muddy waters of the river that runs through the heart of it. Tina, a young, beautiful woman with dark skin, soft smile, and confident demeanor as she rocked her leather legging
My anxiety had bound me to the couch. I couldn't breathe; I was restless; I was desperately trying to find something on TV at 10pm on a Friday night (when the rest of the world was out living their lives) that would capture my attention long enough to calm me. "Do you want to go for a walk?" Marc asked. "What are you talking about? Now??" I said, confused. "Yeah. Let's take a walk around the apartment." He grabbed my hand and with a look of pure certainty that this was a comp
I want time to stop. But maybe not all time, just mine. I want to have a window of existence where all responsibilities are absolved and nothing is expected of me. The simple task of responding to a text message is enough to take me overboard right now. The constant calls and texts of people checking in are so thoughtful and I am thankful for them, but it is a constant reminder that I am in a place of mourning.
I wish I could throw away my phone and all of my to-do lists. C