Fat and happy? Or thin and sick? You make the choice.

As I mentioned last Tuesday, my father-in-law, Herb Bell, died about ten days ago.

Though it may sound strange to talk about the positive aspects of losing someone you love, I have to admit that one of the most heartwarming aspects of the experience was looking at all the old pictures—pictures of my father-in-law, my husband, and the entire family. Over the years, I’ve seen numerous photos of my husband and his parents from his childhood, but last week I think I saw every single photo taken during his childhood—and his parents’ childhoods before him.

It was fascinating on many levels.

Some of things that fascinated me were obvious—how different my father-in-law looked as a child and young man. In one picture, from around the time he was twenty, he is leaning against a brick wall, his knee folded against the wall in an pretty close replica of the famous James Dean photo. I saw that photo, and a man who always looked like a grandfather to me actually appeared hot.

Yes, I said it.

Back in the day, my father-in-law was smoking hot.

But the most interesting part of looking at these photos was that we were all searching for a picture in which Herb looked . . . well . . . I guess the only way to say it is heavy.

Why heavy? Because that’s the way we all remember him—with big glasses, a cigar in house mouth, and a bit of a belly. Like Santa Claus without the hair.

So even though we were tickled to find Herb’s James Dean photo and formal Air Force portrait, we were even happier when we put our hands on a picture of Herb the way we remember him—before he was sick, before he weighed 119 pounds as he did in the days leading up to his death. We desperately wanted to remember him as the happy and healthy man we all loved.

And the whole time we were searching for evidence of his healthier, happier self, I kept thinking about how ironic it was—after Herb got sick, he was initially thrilled by his weight loss and would often brag about how many pounds he’d lost. But at some point, the novelty of being thin wore off, and we were all left with the fact that no matter how svelte and dapper the new Herb looked, we all wanted the old one back. In the end, we longed for the healthy and plump Herb and broke down at the sight of sick, gaunt Herb.

It made me wonder why we are all so obsessed with thinness when, for some of us, being plump means we’re healthy. I even had to ask myself, what would you rather be? Thin and sick or healthy and overweight? Of course, we all would choose the latter, but if that’s the case, then why is it so difficult to accept ourselves the way we are? Imperfect, yes, but still wonderfully, vitally alive.

If I had a wish for all of us, it would be this: I wish that we would all be able to truly believe this—believe that we are better the way we are—long before old age and disease makes waifs out of us, and it is finally—and regrettably—too late.

I have a photograph

My father-in-law died on Saturday. He was 78, and his only goal in life was to love other people. In that way, he was incredibly unique. It's safe to say he accomplished that goal many times over.

It's hard to think about blogging at a time like this, so instead, I'll leave you with this brief but fitting Simon & Garfunkel song. . .

"Bookends"

Time it was, and what a time it was. It was. . .
a time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be. I have a photograph. . .
preserve your memories. They're all that's left you.

The best of times, the worst of times

198 pounds

Dear friends of ours had a baby yesterday—what a great gift his birth seems during a time of much sadness in our household. (One of our parents is very ill and dying.) Whenever things get to be too much these days, I think of the new baby getting to know the wonderful world around him, and it's hard not to feel at least a little bit better.

Because I'm "middle-aged," I have dozens of friends and family members who have young kids—all of them so adorable and enjoyable that it's hard not to think about taking their kids home with me whenever we visit. And during one of those joyous visits this year, a good friend of ours confessed something to me that is both hilarious and frightening.

She told me that when her daughter was still a toddler, she sometimes worried that people would think her baby was too fat. She said this while at the same time admitting that she knew it was completely messed up for her to worry about her little girl's weight—according to the doctors she was well within the normal range—but confessed that knowing this didn't completely stop her from worrying about it.

And what worried her even more was what it said about her—about all of us—if she worried about the weight of a baby. Because what it said was that we are all really, really f***ed up if we are so body conscious that we can't even look at a toddler without thinking, "Maybe I should put my eighteen-month-old on a diet."

As I think about this and wade through one of the saddest periods of my life—and because of our friends' new baby, one of the most joyous—I find myself thinking more and more about what's most important in this life. And I know with certainty that feeling bad about ourselves because we're a few pounds overweight is not one of those things. So I hope that we can change things for all of our children by creating a world where beauty comes in more than one size.

Let's make it happen.