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After MacBookgate2k7, I went months without using my local email client, and checked my work email using the web-based client instead. I didn’t realize it, but until now, this has protected me from seeing old emails from dad.

So just before my birthday, I opened my email application and the first thing I saw was a happy birthday message from him two years ago. It was comforting and I decided to read others, and inadvertently stumbled across some I knew I should leave be, but didn’t.

Dad died and I woke up the morning after thinking of how we’d left things. I decided we’d done pretty well—it had been a long time since we’d had a negative interaction. When Mom woke up, I told her I was really glad that I’d deleted all the emails exchanged during the biggest fight we’d ever had, sometime in the previous year. That was something I wouldn’t ever want to revisit, especially now that i can’t call him to remind myself that we’re past it.

Unfortunately, somehow I hadn’t actually deleted those emails and found them that morning. And I read them, because I’m an idiot. Nothing yet, not even the original news, has made me cry harder. luckily though, there were a couple mitigating factors. one is that toward the end of the chain, we were both working to get along again. The other is that it’s hard to read anything he wrote without being beaten over the head with the extent to which we’re the same soul. It’s easier to forgive yourself for a fight with a kindred spirit…you aren’t mad anymore, so why would they be?

Pete and I were really lucky to have parents who encouraged us to introspect and who let us know them as adults with worries and feelings and their own highs and lows. They didn’t shield us from any of that. When we had this fight, Dad was going through a really rough time, something I wasn’t in a position to fully absorb because I was also struggling in my life.

I know i talk a lot on this blog about how I’ve never been in a better position to deal with a loss like this and how grateful i am for that. It took reading those emails, though, to realize how much better of a position my dad was in to go. He life was not always sunshine, but as far as I can tell, he was pretty damned happy last fall. I feel really grateful about that, too.

Maybe reading the emails wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.

It’s funny how the most random offhand comment can turn into something you’ll hold onto forever. A couple weeks before the surgery, I apologized for spending all my time on the phone talking to Mom about all sorts of silly stuff, leaving not much time to connect with him. He told me not to feel bad about it. “You know, Mary Kat, you and me—i think we transcend all that.” I agreed with him, that we didn’t have to talk all the time to get each other or to get comfort from that bond. Often, remembering that talk is the only thing that makes me feel better about stuff.

It may seem really corny, but a lot of times i think we transcend all of it. death, whatever. It’s not hard to know what Dad would think/say about most things.

So that’s where I am today, and with that, I’m going to attempt to write a half-normal life update.

As you know, Internet, I turned 25 this weekend. It was really nice—I did everything I wanted to do. I have high hopes for this year; I feel like I’m finally in a position to do a lot of things I’ve been meaning to do for quite some time and i think it’s going to be good.

February is on probation, though. Not only did it put the super bowl on my birthday, but we’re not a week into the month and it’s already been expensive as hell. Getting my truck up to NC codes has already cost me $400 and i’m not even clear yet. Additionally, I pity the fool at the Sprint store who has to deal with me when I arrive with my $200 bill this month. HOW CAN MY BILL BE $200 WHEN I AM SO OUTRAGEOUSLY BAD AT USING A TELEPHONE. come on, february, let’s get our shit together.

but i’m sure the rest of the year is going to be as good as it could possibly be. really.

Random sidenote: I had a dream the other night that I witnessed a murder. Since I had seen both the crime, the criminal, and the direction of escape, I didn’t waste a moment calling 911. My heart was in my throat knowing how every second could make a difference in how this was resolved, and I was worried that I wasn’t going to communicate as much to the operator as quickly as would be optimal.

It was at this time that I learned that the 911 lines had been outsourced, and I was on the phone with an Indian person who couldn’t have possibly been more ambivalent about the situation. Latent career anxiety? Who knows, but it made me laugh. I woke up thinking that Dad was going to really enjoy that story, and then got a little sad, but who’s to say that anything can’t transcend.

I’m okay. I’m okay.