There's this thing that happens to me when I get startled, scared, or shocked. I've never told anyone this (lucky you!), but in my head, I call it "tinglefingers." Its cutesy name belies the disconcerting sensation it describes: As the jolt of adrenaline begins to dissipate, it leaves a tingling sensation in my hands. The one time I have tried to describe this phenomenon to a group of people (in the manner of "Don't you hate it when...?"), I was met with blank stares, so I do

"Watch out for the holidays," they said. "They can be really hard," they said. So I battened down the proverbial hatches. I hunkered down to weather the storm. I had boxes of Kleenex on every available surface. I had escape routes mapped out from every room should I need to go cry in private. So when Thanksgiving dawned, I was ready. I was prepared. But no tsunami came. There I was, in our beautiful home, surrounded by the people I love most, eating delicious food we had made

As you can imagine, my dad figures prominently in my memories of Thanksgiving. There are three things he did at every Thanksgiving dinner we had as a family. First was the family photo. Dad was quite the amateur photographer (like his father before him, who had a darkroom in their basement), so he would set up his fancy camera atop a tripod at the entrance to the dining room and, right before we started eating, would take a picture of the nicely dressed family (and often frie

I should know by now that Dad's death will come rushing back to me when similar things happen to my friends. Considering the number of people who have cried on my shoulder over the past couple of months as Dad's experience caused them to re-grieve the loss of their own loved ones, you'd think I'd be prepared for it to happen to me. But as I have discussed ad nauseam in this blog, grief rarely behaves the way we expect it to. Enter my friend JoAnn. JoAnn's husband Darrel was a

We're going on three weeks since Dad died, which, in this age of social media, is nigh unto an eternity. So it never occurred to me that there might be people out there who didn't know. Ah, silly me. My department submits articles to a local trade publication, and it's my job (as Staff Writer) to make sure they're accurate and on-message. Once I'm sure they are, I send them to that publication's editor. And although we have never met in person, she and I have become friendly

One September morning at Davis Hospice, Dad and I were having breakfast together, just the two of us. A nurse came in to check his vitals, and Dad proudly introduced me as his daughter. The nurse nodded knowingly at me and said, “Ah. A daddy’s girl. I get it.” That gave me pause, because I have never once equated myself with the moniker “Daddy’s girl.” Dad never doted on me, was just as happy to see me wearing jeans and hiking boots as frilly dresses, and never once called me

I've made a lot of quilts in my day. I mean, a LOT. They're usually for births and weddings, sometimes for landmark birthdays, occasionally for graduations and get-wells. So you'd think my daughter would have one. But she doesn't. When my mom once made this observation, I explained that I couldn't do it. Any quilt I made for my daughter would not only have to be perfect; it would have to be an artistic masterpiece. And I just don't feel that my quilting skills meet my own sta

This obituary appeared November 2, 2016 in the Cheyenne Tribune-Eagle. Eric J. Wedell, M.D., 76, died Oct. 29 at Davis Hospice Center. Eric James Wedell was born Sept. 26, 1940, in Princeton, N.J., to Carl H., Ph.D., and Elizabeth (Garvin) Wedell. He was raised in Madison, Wis., where he graduated from West High School in 1958, from the University of Wisconsin in 1962 and from the U. of Wisconsin School of Medicine in 1967. He married Maïda McIlroy of Oberlin, Ohio, on Feb. 4

Well, it finally happened. Something came straight out of the clear blue sky and hit me so hard and so quickly it left me breathless. With Dad's memorial service a mere four days away, you can imagine there are a lot of arrangements to be made. A family friend emailed me a question I didn't know the answer to, so I decided to give Mom a quick call. I tried her cell first, as she mentioned she would be out doing errands this afternoon, but it went straight to voice mail. So I

Well, Team Eric, it's time to get together and celebrate Dad's life. His memorial service has been scheduled as follows: Saturday, November 5, 2016 11:00 a.m. First Presbyterian Church 220 W. 22nd St. Cheyenne, WY If you wish to make a donation in Dad's memory, here are links to the charities he has chosen: The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society First Presbyterian Church of Cheyenne, WY Davis Hospice Center (℅ CRMC Foundation) Cheyenne Chamber Singers Cheyenne Botanic Gardens Chey