Daily Confessional: I confess I am often guilty of putting on a big smile and pretending the world is filled with sunshine and rainbow unicorns. But today isn’t one of those days. Candidly, this weekend hasn’t been one either. Instead of hashing it out in my heart and my head, I’m choosing to repost my thoughts from a few weeks ago as it’s just easier.

If you, too, are entering the holiday season with a heavy heart, I have only one recommendation. Be kind to yourself and recognize your grief is your heart’s way of validation. Something important has been lost. Hugs to you my friend.

#missyou

For those of you in the wine industry you may be surprised that I would feature this wine on my social media thread. But hear me out. Wine isn’t always about quality, balance, winemaker, vintage or any of the other characteristics we all study and applaud when they come together in a magical way. It’s not always about what score a wine received or how rare and magical it is perceived to be. Sometimes wine is about a person, a memory.

My Dad knows how much I love wine and have received several certifications over the past year. He may not share my passion but with his big heart and good intentions, he presented this bottle to me over the summer. Yes, it was out in the garage in 90+ degree summer heat, covered with dust and who knows its provenance prior to making it to the metal shelves along with his gardening tools. We laughed and challenged each other as to who was actually going to open it and try it. This went on for several months when I visited.

Neither of us ever opened it. We never got to know whether it was actually good or had long past it’s prime. Dad left for a better place and I remain here with the empty bottle I found in the recycling box. Dammit. Through a massive flood of tears and shortness of breath, I realize that the memories made over a bottle of wine are more precious than any collectors cellar. More valuable than the most rare bottle offered at auction this year.

I miss him with such deep intensity I cannot describe it. I hear his voice, I hear his laughter, I smell his skin and I hurt. But this bottle, worth nothing to anyone else in the world, is going home with me and will be proudly displayed with other rare bottles I’ve had the privilege to drink along my journey. For this, my friends, will remain a tribute to my hero, my cheerleader and my friend. I love you Dad.