i found my favorite mascara the day my dad died

Let me channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw...

Who knew mascara could be so eye opening? <--- see what I did there? I have no shame [not even close to true]. What I do have are short, stubby lashes. Because of this, I am always searching for the holy grail of mascaras [and I found it, the day my dad died]. No lash extensions for me and I haven't quite mastered falsies. I might try for a special occasion. But, inevitably, I take too long to get ready and run out of time. Annnnd it's probably only 25/75 if I am even able to get them to look right...or stay on without poking me.

I have experimented with many mascaras throughout the years. My journey with makeup started back in middle school...along with lots of Bath and Body Works. I can’t say I really knew what I was doing. Luckily, I didn’t have a very heavy hand -so maybe I was never too, too ridiculous. I try to not recall. Though, I may or may not have fallen victim to the 90s - eye shadows all the way up to a pencil thin brow and white shimmer. So much white shimmer.

I'm also always on the lookout for makeup recommendations. But I have my staples and it's hard to veer from them. Then, one day in August, I came across an Instagram story recommending

Hourglass Unlocked Instant Lash Extensions. I saw it. I bought it.

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Cut to that morning. I woke up - my day off - a Monday [who gets a Monday off]. I like to sleep late when I can. And by late I mean like 10 - 11 am. My dog had a vet appointment about 9:30. Too early. You know what that meant? I would be rolling out of bed. I don’t even remember if I took a quick shower. I patted on a little tinted moisturizer and whipped out my new mascara. Minimal make up days meant the lashes had to pop. I needed to look like I didn’t just roll out of bed to take my dog to the vet. Obviously.

Because of covid, the vet tech took my dog into the office while I stayed in the car. I handed off the leash. She told me they would call me to go over everything when she was done. Crap. I looked down and realized I didn’t have my phone. I asked how long it would take because I needed to run back to the house and get it. I had just enough time.

As I was driving back home, I passed my parents’ house. I noticed my dad’s truck was back [it was gone when I first drove by]. He must have been running an errand earlier. He’s an early riser and a coffee drinker [I did not get that from him]. As I headed back toward the vet, I thought about calling him to see if he wanted me to pick him up and to run a couple of errands with me. This was completely normal for us. But, about that time, I got a call. My dog was already done with her appt. I had to scoot right on by and hustle back to the vet - telling them I was about to pull into the parking lot...

I called my dad while I was waiting for them to bring my dog to the car. I asked, "do you want to run into Lowe's" mostly as a formality knowing Dad was always up to run into town with me. I needed curtains and we both had already measured my window. Now, did we come up with the same measurements? Who even knows!

You see, I had been having trouble sleeping in. So we, being in the science world, hypothesized it might be the morning sun shining through waking me up so early. Why not try to block some of it out?

I didn't get the expected "yep, just let me get some shoes on." Instead, he answered, "I'm kinda worn out and just got back from town." I paused. That was not the expected response, but I had seen him all summer battling the effects of chemo. It hardly slowed him down but it took a toll. Plus he was on day 6 post chemo. I watched as he took those days to just rest. So this would be a rest day.

I told him the vet tech was coming out and hurriedly hung up the phone [not quite as dramatic as phones with an actual receiver].

They gave me her shot info and a couple things to try. We set up an appt to get her teeth cleaned. I threw it all in the back. Side note: I would eventually forget everything that was said to me, lose what they gave me, and cancel her appt [because Dad wouldn't be able to take her].

An hour later and my whole life would be changed. Forever.

My dad called me right back. I hadn't left the parking lot yet. He effortlessly went with an old standby joke about not having talked to me in a while [it had been 2 minutes ago]. He changed his mind and would go in with me - said we could pick up lunch for him and my mom. I second guessed him. "Are you sure? You said you were pretty worn out and you just finished chemo." He pepped up with a "yep, I'm sure" just like he always did.

I ran my dog back to the house, swung by and picked up my dad. We chit chatted. We had a brief but significant talk about my ex. It makes me heartsick and sometimes angry knowing any of the last hours I had with my dad involved any conversation about an ex - that ex and that conversation. It hurt my dad knowing what I was going through. That was the last "dad advice" I got to hear and the last I got to be truly heard by my most favorite person - my biggest fan, my biggest supporter, my dad. Instant tears as I write that.

As I got close, I didn’t get in the left lane to go to Lowe’s. My astute dad immediately noticed and jokingly rattled off something like “oh I see we aren’t just going to Lowe’s, huh? Where else are you taking me?” - with his big, joyful, sarcastic smile. Even his sarcasm was disarming.

After a couple of quick errands, I pulled into Lowe's. We parked in the Veteran’s parking spot. Dad had become very proud of his time in the service. And, with the chemo, it was helpful to get a spot a little closer to the door. I’ll never forget that's where we parked - he never made it back to my car...

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Flash forward to the hospital - that family room. My mouth was so dry...and when I say dry, I mean completely parched. I was downing the little water cups the Chaplain was giving me. Naturally, I had to go to the bathroom...twice. But I was so terrified to leave that room.

I wondered what I looked like to the people I passed on the way to the bathroom guided by the Chaplain...a warning to all who saw. I couldn’t see them but I knew they could see me. Did they even care? I felt like a kid playing peek-a-boo. I can't see you, so can you see me? I floated down the hall. I can only think to describe it as a haze. Parts of me had turned off.

What I saw before me was like looking through a small peephole with all the edges blurred - tunnel vision. My eyes. Oh my eyes! What they saw. What they couldn't see. The scared and confused glare that I felt was so apparent. The volumes of words I said with a blank look. I can't explain the feeling of having some of my sight blurred but being hyper aware even though I couldn't see anywhere but right in front of me. I locked the door to the bathroom. I paused. I thought. This is happening. I looked into the mirror to clean up all the smeared mascara and prepare myself. I needed to see myself in my reality - in that mirror. But it hadn't smeared. I just had a couple black flecks resting ever so lightly on my cheek. My whole face was red and my nose, snotty.

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Why did I even write about mascara? I. Do. Not. Know.

All I know is, it was significant to me. My life was in complete chaos. Nothing made sense. I didn't know which way was up. But that little mascara gave me some sense of control in my new world that was completely out of my control. It did not run. It stayed put. I'll never forget that golden tube of mascara giving me one less thing to worry about - to be able to face those first days. To be able to face grief. To be able to look someone in the eye and for them to look me in the eye.

My new mascara held up through THE worst moments. I wore it the next day. And the day after. And to visitation. And to the funeral. It has become my go to. I had to put on a face to the world but cried every moment alone - some of those moments being mere seconds before taking on the day - wiping tears in the parking lot at work. I haven’t been able to wear the clothes I was wearing that day. But I still wear that mascara.

It's funny. I wanted to look nice. What? That seems so trivial and trite...so much so I almost scrapped this whole post. But I've made it this far. Those days didn't involve much rational thought. I didn't want to look on the outside how I was feeling on the inside. I didn't want to look like I had cried nonstop or that I hadn't slept or that I hadn't eaten. I didn't want the attention. I didn't want there to be any worry about me. I wanted to honor my dad and show the best version of myself - because I wasn't showing off for me - I was showing him through me and showing his legacy.

I wore that mascara in the deepest trenches of my grief. That little tube of mascara provided an ounce of stability among the crashing waves.

And that is beautiful.