How are YOU doing? I've answered this question a thousand times since May. The short answer? I am doing okay. We are doing okay. 

So how am I really doing? That changes day by day, hour by hour. Minute by minute. 

I feel angry and bitter. When I see old people complaining about being old. When they are crabby. When they complain about the smallest, most trivial of ailments. I want to grab their shoulders and scream in their face how lucky they are to be alive. How lucky they are to get another day. Another hour. That anger turns to bitter. Why do you get to walk this earth if all you are going to do is complain about it. Why you and not my dad? He would have been so much better of an old person. So much cooler than you. Why do you get to stay and he has to go?

I feel regret. Those Sunday dinners I missed because I had better things to do. That one time in college I told him I hated him. Every lie I told. Every time I yelled at him. Every time I slipped $5 out of his wallet. Every time I was too cool or had too important of things to do than to spend time with him. Every time I didn't want to go fishing. Every time I didn't want to be seen in that beat up truck. All those times I was a terrible daughter. 

I feel heart broken. I think about all the things he isn't going to see or do. My wedding. My kids. Hailey's graduation. Hawaii. My 30th birthday. All the birthdays. All the holidays. So much life yet to see and experience that he won't be there for. 

I feel tired. Worn down. Beat. It's exhausting to be brave, be strong all day long. To put on your best helpful smile and wear it all day long. 

I feel lucky. I knew in May that we would eventually be at this point. He was not going beat this cancer. The outcome was as bleak as they get. I could not imagine what this would feel like if we had received a different outcome. If there had been hope. My heart breaks for the people who thought their loved ones had a chance to beat this disease and still ended up doing what I'm doing right now, sitting in a hospice facility, looking over a loved one. We have had time to prepare. We are getting a chance to say goodbye. We a treasuring the last moments together. We get to have hospice care. They are truly an amazing service, such kind and caring people. There are going to be hundreds of people tonight who loose their fathers unexpectedly. There are going to be hundreds of people who don't get to say goodbye to their loved ones. I do.  For that I feel lucky. 

I feel grateful. Maybe that's just another way of feeling lucky, but I am grateful that I have a amazing support system. My family is stronger than ever and in the face of this heartbreak, the ties that bind us together are stronger than ever.  I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. Or better friends. Or better co-workers. I haven't been the easiest person to be around. I know this. But they have been steadfast. Thank you for listening. For being there. For taking me out and putting a beer in my hand. For a good fart joke to make me laugh. For letting me fall asleep 30 minutes into your favorite movie because I am so tired. For the offers to help out with whatever you could help with. For being there. Thank you. 

I feel loved. Since this began, we have seen an outpouring of thoughts and prayers and love from so many people. My father touched a lot of people's lives and we are hearing from so many people. Thank you for that. 

So, how am I doing? I'm doing okay. We will be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow.  But eventually, we will be okay.