Two years ago my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a cancer I am convinced was connected to his diabetes (and kidney failure and liver failure and heart failure). My dad was a force. You should have heard the stories he had to share. He once talked a man pointing a gun at him down. He was big. His personality. His smile. His laughter. His voice. And yes, his belly.
Food connected us. We celebrated, we mourned, we processed with food.
We had thirteen days with my dad from the day he was diagnosed to the day he passed away. Those days were beautiful. Full of healing wounds and reliving our most precious memories. But they were also full of food. Food he couldn’t eat but we did. As I cared for him during those days, I had a running list of appointments that needed to be made, details that needed discussing, and food that needed to be experienced. Our favorite foods that tell the story of my childhood.
I’m haunted by what could have been if we had learned other ways to enjoy life, other ways to process the pain and discomfort of life. He wouldn’t want me to spend a single moment thinking of these things. We had lots of talks about it. He didn’t want to live a life that wasn’t full of experience and joy. To him, food brought joy. He wasn’t interested in cutting out sugar or flour. (Even though he once won a Biggest Loser contest at his gym.)
The day he died I committed to do better. I quit my stressful and toxic job to stay home with my kids and I made pursuing health and joy my number one priority. For a year I struggled through Keto, Intermittent Fasting and Intuitive Eating.
But in June 2019, my beautiful sister introduced me to Bright Line Eating. And for the first time in my life, I feel happy and free. I’m 54lbs less than I was then but what I cherish most is that my sisters, my life long best friends, are in this journey with me. We are changing the course of history for our families, for our sweet daughters and sons. That they might not have to watch us waste away as we had to.
It is a beautiful, beautiful thing to find peace and freedom and a way to experience life being fully present. In the pain and in the celebrating. Without relying on food as the source of all comfort and joy. It’s a process. It’s a struggle. But it’s a struggle I’ll take over the alternative every.single.day.
Missing you, Papa.