bury me in my sneakers

Today is a very special day.

1)  My book club is reconvening tonight for a little holiday soiree after a short hiatus.

I call it “my book club” only because I was the one to ultimately jump start it a little less than 8 years ago, by picking a book, sending out invitations and calling it a book club.  The impetus for doing so was sitting in a doctors office at Mercy Hospital, seeing a CT scanned image of the grapefruit size tumor in my dad’s abdomen and hearing the words “inoperable and terminal” followed by  “2-4 months”…2 months to the day from my scheduled wedding date.  Doesn’t that sound like a good reason to read some books and drinks some (a lot) of wine?  Well, it made perfect sense to me, for several reasons.  Mainly because my dad LOVED to read and he passed that love on to me.  Also, I thought he would be proud of me for hosting something so intellectual as a book club (in his hay day he would have been proud of how much we used to drink and smoke too) and I wanted him to know about it BEFORE he died.  And last but not least, I wanted to have something to look forward to, to take my mind off my dad’s imminent and ultimate death.  A good book and a good night with friends…a great remedy for self-pity.  So, here we are, almost 8 years later…still drinking wine and talking trash under the guise of “book club.”  And although we meet infrequently and rarely talk about or even read the book, I still love it and look forward to it with a certain endearment.

2) The deadline for my book project submissions is today.

WOW is pretty much all I can say in response to the beautiful, poignant, powerful pieces I have been receiving over the past few weeks.  Kleenex is my friend, let me tell you, as I read the stories, poems and letters women are sending me. I have been moved beyond words.

I do have to admit to a few moments of self-doubt.  A few women that have found me via various literary/blogging websites have asked me if I have an agent or publisher yet.  Truthfully, I am as green as Sarah Palin (that’s not funny anymore now that the election is over, is it?) in the literary world.  No, I don’t have an agent and/or a publisher.  And yes, I know it is extremely hard to land an agent and/or a publisher.  But despite the struggle I will inevitably go through to get this thing published, I am certain, now more than ever, that there is a place in this world for a book like this.  And what struck me last night as I read one submission that particularly hit home with me and made my stomach have that nervous achy feeling, is that this book is for any woman that has lost her dad, regardless of how much time has passed or what the circumstance may have been.  Of course some stories will resonate more than others depending on your own story.  But these stories are proving my hypothesis that grief is universal and although it gets better, it is infinite and everlasting.  Reading the stories of other women is so strangely comforting to me.  I know it will be for other women too.

One quote that sums it all up for me came from a former co-worker (whom I have never met because she works in the Chicago office).  Margie McCartney writes…

If someone told me I had a week to live, I would be sad to leave everyone on this earth but I would be so excited to be with my dad that I would have them bury me with my sneakers so I could run into his arms again.

3) Today would have been my Dad’s 77th birthday.

Happy Birthday Dad!