Emotional Eating

For almost the last two weeks, I've been the walking and talking definition of "emotional eating." That's normally not me. I'm a clock eater: I eat at 9am, noon, 3pm and as close to 6pm as possible. But when Daddy was hospitalized and then put on life support, I had to force myself to eat just to fuel my body enough to travel to see him. When he passed away and we buried him, I again had to force myself to eat just to keep from being dehydrated from all the tears.

Since then, I've been eating everything in sight. I'm sad. And I'm a bit scared and worried, but I really don't know what I'm scared of. And although I know peanut butter cups don't really help with any of that, for some reason in some tiny way, they kinda do.

My dad was an incredible character. I have his eyes and dimples and broad shoulders. He taught me to catch a fish, shoot a gun, unclog a toilet and drive. He was proud of my education and my work, and he hung my photographs proudly throughout his home. He had an amazing laugh that I hope my memory will always allow me to hold on to.

It still feels very unreal to me that he's gone.

I hope I can pull a lesson or two out of all of this: Eat for fuel and health. Cry when I need to. Take more pictures. Laugh. Remember the good. Do something beautiful and full of life every day. Love.