A lot of you out there in #TeamEric-land have asked me what I think about the sudden onset of Dad's illness. There has been a lot of philsophizing (I know that's not a word) about whether it's better for a loved one's death to be quick or drawn out. I'm not sure I have an answer to that--and it's kind of funny to be thinking about at all, since we certainly can't choose the circumstances under which we leave this life. We lost Daniel's mom, Peggy, very suddenly and unexpected

When Carl, Auntie Barb, and I arrived at Dad's bedside in the hospice center on September 18, I asked Dad how long he had. He said a week to ten days. Today is September 28 and Dad's still alive and kicking, as it were. Don't get me wrong: I am grateful for every extra day he is spending on this earth. I look forward to the moment, every lunch break, that I can see him while we visit on FaceTime. But let's face it: He's ready to go. He has his proverbial umbrella and stuffed

Today's #TeamEric post is a song that has been going through my head since the moment on August 20 when I read my mother's email saying my father had been diagnosed with leukemia. It's a little funny, because Dad doesn't like pop music at all. But I love this song, and it applies so very much. I hummed it late at night in my little flat in London. I sang it as I walked across Lions' Park from my parents' house to the hospice center every morning. And I cried as I watched the

Today is my dad's 76th birthday. It is also his last birthday. I don't know how much longer this incredible human being will be with us, but he made the very most of those 76 years. He insisted Car land I come back to St. Paul, our jobs, and our families. A dad to the end. So I am not spending his birthday with him. But my heart is. (Credits: Crown, Ibby Potter Davis; mustache, Barbara Wedell Bailey)

File under "Words I Never Thought I'd Type": I just said goodbye to my dad for the last time.* Carl and I had to leave for the airport. Dad said I was the best daughter in the world. He said not to worry. He said he loved me with all his heart. I am lucky. *It occurs to me that I wasn't clear in my original post, for which I sincerely apologize. Dad hasn't yet collected his umbrella, snacks, and stuffed animal to start his journey to heaven. It was Carl and I who had to leave

I am sitting by my father's bedside as the early morning light of home filters through the blinds. My only sibling sits across from me while our father sleeps. The only sounds are the ticking of the clock, the bubbling of his oxygen feed, his quiet breathing. I am grateful for every breath, and grow increasingly worried after each exhale that there won't be another one. I long to lay my hand on him, to reassure him that we are here, that we are watching. That we love him. But

Tonight after Mom and Auntie Barb left, Carl and I had a great talk with Dad. I told him that, while he was intubated and sedated in London, I was terrified that he would lose hope--that he would give up. That he would stop fighting. So I would enumerate for him all the things he needed to stick around for: his and mom's 50th wedding anniversary in February; Teagan's big school musical in June; adding Carl to our team for the Tour de Wyoming in July. Graduations. Weddings. Bi

I said, "Sorry, you guys, but we're gonna have to take a selfie." Dad (much to my surprise) replied, "YES. Yes. A selfie." Best. Selfie. Ever.

I've been interviewing Dad and recording it à la StoryCorps this week. And although the original intent was just to capture the stories I love, a side effect is that Carl and I have been learning new things about our dad. For example: 1. He had "a lot of girlfriends" (his words, which practically gave us whiplash) before Mom, but when he met her, it was love at first sight. 2. He and Mom were married eight days shy of the first anniversary of the day they met. Which means the