The Waves That Keep Coming

I just celebrated another trip around the sun, my 46th. I had a wonderful time on my birthday, surrounded by my husband, girls, and mother-in-law in sunny South Carolina. We were on Spring Break and had a scrumptious dinner in Charleston, did some fun shopping, and indulged in a fantastically delicious and gorgeous chocolate cake. All in all, we're talking a totally banner day. It was the second birthday since my dad passed away, however, and my birthday hits kind of hard these days.

Driving back home to Virginia on Saturday, all the familiar sights along I-95 brought the waterworks. Passing all those longstanding landmarks and pit stops on the way to and from the beach ... the Pedro signs, crossing the Pee Dee River, seeing extra lanes that were recently added that my dad always wished for, it was all so bittersweet. I have millions of amazing memories from our summer beach trips that will always be some of my absolute fondest. The excitement my dad exuded on the annual trip South was much like that of a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

On my last birthday spent with my sweet, sweet dad, his ALS was rapidly progressing. He had lost so much muscle, was all skin and bones. It was really hard for him to be able to get comfortable in most chairs, and walking was a major challenge. That's not even mentioning his devastating breathing challenges that made things like eating really tough.

When I was asked what I wanted to eat for my birthday dinner, nothing sounded better to me than a burger on the grill. I figured my dad, the master of all charcoal grill masters, could tell my mom what to do (he always did the grilling), but, no, he grilled those burgers himself. I can't explain to you just how difficult that was for him to do on that day, but that's the kind of guy he was through and through.

Little did I know, we would have less than seven more months with him. One of the last pictures I have with my dad is of me blowing out my 44th birthday candles, with him lovingly watching me do so. That photo will always mean a lot to me, as much as it rips me up, because I will never forget his bravery, strength, and faith—his lifting up of others and expressions of gratitude on even his hardest of hard days, including his last.

My dad was nothing short of remarkable in so many ways. I love thinking back to all of our precious memories, and most days I can do so with a big smile, but, wow, sometimes it stings to my core.

I know so many people are in the same boat. Several of my closest friends have lost a parent in the past few years. Others have been grieving one or several of their dearest for decades. I write this post to let you know you're not alone.

Grief really does come in waves. And it can be so tricky. One second, you're fine; the next second, you're a wreck. One one hand, you don't want people to stop talking about the person you're missing, or for people to forget them—not that they would—but, on the other hand, sometimes you can't talk about them without getting choked up yourself.

Jay Shetty was recently on the "The Mel Robbins Podcast" and mentioned the Dr. Wayne Dyer quote, "When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change."

Amen to that. My dad's life was proof that that kind of thinking, that kind of outlook, made for happier days and a zest for life that's contagious. I hope that with each passing year, I take on more of my dad's don't-worry disposition. On the darkest of days he always managed to see the sun.

I also hope and pray that someday soon there will be a cure for ALS. Supporting the ALS Therapy Development Institute is a great place to donate toward that end.

Sending love to all who are grieving, and so much love up to Heaven.

Natalie Kaar

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." — Winnie the Pooh