Sorry: It’s been a while, hasn’t it. Life got in the way.
Content warning: Today, May 13, is the first anniversary1 of my father’s death. Grief and loss are going to be heavy themes in this week’s issue, which won’t exactly be a normal issue. If this isn’t what you’re in the mood for, click out now. I won’t be mad.
Carry this image of my kittens with you and have a good week.
Work stuff: You can find my writing, as always, on Catholic News Agency. I wrote about Notre Dame this week.
Life update: If you’re reading this in the afternoon, I will have touched down in St. Louis, Missouri, for my first-ever trip to the Show-Me State.2 I’m excited for a few days away from the DC area. And penguins. There are penguins at the zoo there.3
Recipe of the week: This week’s recipe isn’t actually a recipe, but rather, a food item: The Wendy’s #6 Combo.
A spicy chicken sandwich, topped with mayo, tomato, and lettuce, served with fries and a lemonade. The lemonade was uncharacteristically bad and tasted like diluted lemon juice.
The first few days of being home in Maine after my father’s cardiac arrest on May 5 were not unlike the first few weeks of quarantine. There was hope that this would soon be over, and life would go back to normal. I was doing yoga and going for walks, and playing with Ruby, my dad’s new puppy. It was stressful, but there was optimism.
Look at this sweet baby puppy.
Just like there was at the start of *gestures wildly,* there was a sense of inevitability, but for good. Of course my dad would wake up. Of course he’ll go through open heart surgery. Of course he’ll make a full recovery and live a long life. He has to, right?
Unfortunately, those things didn’t happen. My father never woke up.
The real turning point in my father’s brief illness came on May 8, when the doctors determined that the cardiac arrest had given my father significant brain damage—and it was appearing more likely that despite their best efforts, there wasn’t much more that could be done.
At that point, I promptly lost any and all appetite. I’d estimate that about 80% of the calories I consumed from that point on came in the form of either protein shakes or alcohol.4
Eventually, a phone conference was set for May 12, after hospitals from around the country had been given a chance to examine my father’s case. At the phone conference, the doctors were blunt about the extent of the brain injury5 and his chances for recovery.6 My brother and I agreed that it would be best if life support would be removed as all remaining care would be futile. I would be permitted to say goodbye the following day.7
I’m not sure what it was—perhaps it was finally “knowing” what was going to happen, even if it wasn’t ideal—but as soon as I hung up the phone, I was starving. For Wendy’s. Specifically Wendy’s.
As delivery apps did not really exist in the Pine Tree State at the time,8 and I did not have a car to use for that trip home, I was unfortunately unable to immediately obtain the sweet, sweet nectar of a Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwich.9 I eventually got one, and it was delicious.
And in honor of surviving one full year without my dad, I got another one today.
Finally: On May 1, what would have been my father’s 57th birthday, we finally had his funeral. The church had a sizable crowd, and it was really great to be able to meet up with people afterwards.10 The Mass was lovely, and 11 days out, nobody has gotten sick.
I just don’t know why we couldn’t have done this sooner.11
It feels really nice to not have the unfinished business of the funeral looming over me, and I’m trying to make gains in the healing process. Obviously, there will never be full “closure,” but things certainly are better.
Throwback Thursday: My dad and I both visited Israel as young adults. My dad went in 1988, at the age of ~24, and I went in 2017, when I was 25. We both rode camels on the Mount of Olives. I discovered this picture of him shortly after he passed.
He was a lot chiller about it than I was.12
Have a great week, everyone.
On paper, technically he died today. My dad suffered a cardiac arrest on May 5, and never regained consciousness. He was removed from life support on May 15 as the surgeon for the organ donation was unavailable for procurement until that day. His death certificate reads May 13 and he was declared brain dead on that day.
This is a weird state nickname.
I’m also planning on going to a strawberry festival, which just sounds delightful.
Pink Whitney <3
Very Bad
Zero.
Covid.
And only kind of do now.
My brother refused to drive me, which was rude. I have forgiven him.
Just as I predicted, one of my dad’s merchant marine buddies boasted about how he went through the Suez Canal many times without crashing a ship and bringing international trade to a halt.
I’ll eventually write a longform piece about this.
I was not chill.