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<p>Today, instead of school, I took Mom and my son out for a day of caching. There were two more of the Adventure Lab caches nearby and I figured while we were out we could pick up a few traditional caches as well. Mom, having heard us talk about the Adventure caches, was curious and [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, I’ve kept my promise to G3. We’ve only been having school four days a week instead of five. Today — since the weather forecast said it would be the warmest and sunniest day of the week — we skipped school and drove out to Montauk. The last time we were there was ten [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Thursday was my anniversary (sixteen years) but the day came and went with no celebration. It was just another day. My spouse and I — more so me than her, I suppose — joke about what an awful day we got married. When you look at the “This Day in History,” you see nothing but [&hellip;]</p>

<p>It’s been a year since Dad died. It still doesn’t seem real. I keep hoping that reality will readjust itself, that I’ll wake up and this whole pandemic will just have been a bad dream or a horrible movie. This morning we finally had Dad’s funeral. In order to get to Mom’s house before mass, [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, Over spring break, we listened to the Hamilton CD non-stop. For four days in the car, as we drove through New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, it’s all we played until we knew most of the songs and could sing along. Yes, I know, I can hear you in my head making fun of [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I am vaccinated, but unlike so many other people posting on Facebook and other platforms, there is no joy in it for me. I can’t even claim to feel relieved. My shot comes two days shy of the one year anniversary of Dad’s death. Instead of thinking about what this vaccine will mean for me, [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, For once — due to the fact that I’m homeschooling G3 and get to make the rules — my spouse’s and my son’s spring break coincided, which meant we got to escape New Jersey for a couple days. You know I love to get away and travel even if it’s still fairly close [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Shortly after Dad died, I started taking pictures of empty benches. Initially, they were in places that reminded me of Dad, places that he should still have been visiting with me. Each bench represented countless memories, so many wonderful experiences we shared together. But then my family and I took a road trip, and my [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Last night was awful. I hardly slept. Every time I drifted off to sleep I saw Dad’s face pressed against the window of the back door. The handle would rattle, but he couldn’t get inside. I’d rush to the door, eager to let him in, but each time I woke up before I could reach [&hellip;]</p>

<p>When my son was little — four or five — I was telling him about my grandfather (my mother’s father) and I told him that Poppy was the best cook. My son got mad. He wrinkled his brow and scolded me, “You’re wrong, my grandfather is the best cook.” I countered, “Nope, my grandfather definitely [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I was thirty-four when I had to write a research paper for the very first time. Yep, you read that correctly. I made it through high school, college, and my first tour of graduate school (keep in mind I attended NYU for both my undergraduate degree and my degree in education) before I finally landed [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Friday, I woke up so dizzy and nauseous I couldn’t even stand up. I almost never miss my morning workout, but I simply could not get out of bed. When I finally forced myself up to go to the bathroom, I threw up. My head felt like it had been used in a soccer match. [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, G3 thought of you today. Actually, whenever he sees a goose he thinks of you. He loves reminiscing about the story you told him — oh so many years ago — about the time when you were little and a goose bit your butt. Today, after we finished our homeschool lessons, G3 wanted [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The one year anniversary of Dad’s hospitalization and death, combined with Easter and funeral preparations is the perfect storm for a serious depression. For weeks now, every time I tried to begin composing Dad’s eulogy in my head, I didn’t get further than a sentence or two before tears washed the rest out of my [&hellip;]</p>

<p>A year ago today, I raced across state lines to bring my father Tylenol. When he accepted my offer to drive an hour an a half to bring it to him — an an hour and a half back — I knew he was really sick. He would never have consented to such an inconvenience [&hellip;]</p>

<p>My son has completed the fifth grade curriculum. Therefore, starting this week, we will operate only on a four day work week. Four days of classes and one day to go out and do something fun. Today, my spouse had off from work so we headed into Pennsylvania to go hiking in Wissahickon Park. It [&hellip;]</p>

<p>One year ago today, my son, my spouse, and I all had our first virtual day of school. It did not go well. I knew immediately that I would not survive the semester. My son was cranky and irritable, and halfway through his assignments I was already talking about pulling him out of school. Watching [&hellip;]</p>

<p>My son thinks I work him too hard. Maybe I do. Maybe he’s just used to having classmates around to take away some of the attention and pressure. Maybe it’s a combination of both. But I imagine it can’t be all bad for him. I rarely assign homework, and he hasn’t had a test since [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Friday, March 12, marked one full year since my son has been home from school. Schooling this year has been a nightmare for so many families. Children across the nation are falling behind. But in this year of absolute misery and sorrow, my son’s education has been a bright spot. While other parents are pushing [&hellip;]</p>

<p>My mom asked me to post the information about Dad’s funeral/memorial mass. So here are the details: April 14 (the one year anniversary of his death) 11:30 AM Sacred Heart Church 83-17 78th Avenue Glendale, NY 11385 Today has a been a bad day — actually the whole week has been difficult. We are back [&hellip;]</p>