My dad died April 1, 2011. Four years ago today, we celebrated his life with a gathering of family and friends. Photos I was tagged in/posted that day popped up on my Facebook today, which brought me to write this.
When my dad was in his late teens/early 20s, he was 6’4″ and weighed about 160 lbs soaking wet. He tried to join the service, but was underweight. He stayed that way until he quit smoking, when he got a belly from eating butterscotch disks.
Dad and I, walking down the aisle March 13, 1992
Later, he developed a triple A (abdominal aortic aneurysm). His heart wasn’t strong enough for surgery, so they put it off as long as they could. Surgery is usually recommended when an AAA’s diameter grows to greater than 5.5 cm. His was over 8 when they decided they couldn’t put off surgery any longer. By then, my dad weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 350 lbs.
Dad worried about my weight. A lot. I was the oldest. I gave him his only grandchildren, who he loved very dearly. I was the one that had been through a wringer of shitty marriages, and shitty life choices, so he worried about me. And the girls. He worried about lots of things, but mostly my weight.
I had been ballooning for many years. I gained over 80 pounds when I was pregnant with Mariah.While I didn’t gain any with Victoria’s pregnancy (I think the impending divorce, and the associated stress had something to do with that), I gained about 60 with Jordan. And I wasn’t able to lose much of it. I’m sure my depression was a large part of that.
Since Dad’s passing, I had a hysterectomy and I quit smoking. As a result, I’ve gained probably another 50 pounds, easily. It’s wrecking havoc on my joints, as I’ve explained in other blogs, and made me physically miserable. I knew I had to do something, and decided I was ready for Weight Loss Surgery.
When I told my Mom about my decision, one of the first things she said, while we were both crying, was that my Dad would be very proud of me. I really do think that’s true. He lost both of his parents when they were relatively young (60) and I think he was worried that I’d leave this Earth too soon, and my girls wouldn’t be prepared.
In my heart of hearts, I know that what my mother said holds true. Dad would be proud of me. Not so much for making the decision to have weight loss surgery, but for making the decision to take control of my life.
This is MY time, Dad. I love you, and miss you. Just watch what I can do. I’m gonna make you and Mom proud.
Love each other, and be kind.