Dadisms...

Dadism:  Always leave the dinner table a little hungry.

Well, there's some advice I don't follow.  Does anyone??  Well, yes, actually... my dad did.  I have never met someone as disciplined as my father when it came to food.  He would literally count out french fries so as not to go over his allotted carbohydrate intake.  He actually ate a portion of meat the size of his palm.  He never went back for seconds.  Imagine that.  Never, ever going back for seconds.  Never, ever fluctuating up a few pounds or your jeans feeling tight.  Never, ever enjoying dessert or sugar in your coffee or pancakes.  Ever... for 45 years.  Unless you've eaten with my dad, it's hard to explain just how regimented he was... and how hard it became.

I hate that picture.  I hate it because it was taken on Father's Day of 2011.  The day my father was diagnosed with esophageal cancer.  I hate that the boys look so beautiful and so young and will probably never remember their Papa.  I hate that I made scrambled eggs for breakfast that morning, hoping it would be something my father could eat.  He refused them at the time but it literally broke my heart when my mom told me that after we'd gone home, he made scrambled eggs but couldn't swallow them, which is what sent them to the emergency room.  He had wanted the eggs.  He was just afraid he wouldn't be able to eat them in front of me.  I hate that I felt so fat that day, struggling to lose the final baby weight from Peter, and my dad seemed so thin.  I hate that this is the "heaviest" I'd ever see him again.  I hate that this day started the worst year of all of our lives.  I hate that I didn't know where to put my hand because what I really wanted to do was hug him so tight and make it all go away.  I knew that day.  I could see it in his eyes.  I hate that picture.

But I love it.  Because the boys look so beautiful.  Because it's one of the only pictures I have of me and him and all of them.  Because it reminds me of my heartache.