When I'm gone, I hope they drink margaritas

When I think back to the year my dad passed away, I always remember how weird it felt, to be having someone so close being taken from me while I was still so young. Really, all of three of us, "dad's girls" were too young. As we keep getting older, I know it will become more and more common that we have people around us who lose loved ones. I guess at some point it becomes a fact of life. We get older and so do those we love.

It's been close to five years and it's still kind of weird. I'm not sure there will ever be a year where I start thinking I feel 100% back to normal. In reality, each year kind of gets harder. When you're young (and stupid,) you don't remember to thank your dad for everything he's given you or taught you or made possible for you. When you're older (and a tad wiser,) you think of all the things you wish you could have thanked him for, and even harder, you think of all the things and times and places you wish you could share with him in adult life.

There are a few things I remember vividly about my dad and they're what I make myself hold onto, close and really tight. They're those types of memories you want to have to tell your children. The ones that never get old and never get forgotten. The ones that make you miss someone so much it hurts, but still make you smile.

This time of year, those memories are around margaritas. My dad's birthday is tomorrow, March 12. Looking back on the years I had with him, my dad-birthday memories revolved around Mexican restaurants. He loved Mexican food. Like really loved it. Loved making guacamole and homemade margaritas at home, loved the real-deal authentic hole in the wall restaurants we'd stumble upon on vacations and even loved the cheap chips and salsa type Mexican restaurants (as long as they'd bring him special "extra hot" salsa from the back).

These are the type of memories I keep in a special place tucked in my brain, and in my heart. I'm sure there were years we did something different, tried something new, but I remember the Mexican dinners and margaritas. And yes, I know for most of my birthdays spent with him, I was participating in the celebrations with virgin strawberry daiquiris topped with loads of whip cream. I even keep the memory of forcefully putting a big sombrero on his head while singing "Happy Birthday" so we could get a quick, embarrassing Polaroid picture as a souvenir. So in March each year, I remember him, the margaritas and really good family time together.

My dad and margaritas go together in more ways than birthday memories. Now that I'm older and also enjoy a killer margarita, it's like my "dad thing." My thing that I feel like I share with him. A thing I can use to celebrate his birthday, his life, his memory. Margaritas in their best form are simple: water, sugar, limes, orange liqueur and lots of good tequila. Maybe it's weird that in 22 years of him giving me life lessons, the one I keep top of mind is a margarita recipe. But aren't the simple life lessons sometimes the best?

I believe I'm strong enough in my faith to know my dad is peacefully in Heaven, drinking the best margaritas he's ever had. But I also believe he's proudly watching us down here on Earth getting by, with the help of a margarita every now and then.

So cheers to you, Dad. Thanks for giving us a fantastic reason to drink margaritas and eat chips and guacamole in your memory each year.

Your favorite line to me was always, "Make good choices." I hope you know I'm trying my best to honor that ask. And whenever I'm offered, I choose the good margarita, with the good tequila.

Xoxo,
Molly

List in Pics: "Make Good Choices" by Scott Essell

As the years go by, it slowly gets easier to use Father's Day for a day of celebration, admiration and honoring my dad’s memory. It may be impossible to put into words how unbelievable he was, but this list and these pictures are a good start. This List in Pics gives you five of the ways I learned to live by Scott Essell's infamous "make good choices" motto.

Work hard, play hard My dad's best friend calls anything Patagonia "Scott clothes." It's a fair statement. I was dressed in Patagonia, Birkenstocks and Ray Bans since I was a little tyke. The lesson is not to be a spoiled brat but to take pride in your hard work and splurge on things that make you happy. Whether that's a new pullover, a trip to see San Francisco or a new Apple product, I now can purchase a "Scott" item to treat myself for working hard (after putting some in my savings, too)!

Pay attention in school! My dad was smart. I mean, super smart. He had the kind of brain that absorbed everything he came in contact with. So because of that, he’d push Olivia and me to excel in our studies. From sitting me down at the kitchen table and trying endlessly to teach me math equations in junior high, to making sure I was going to my college classes as much as I was going to college parties, he made it clear education was a priority. As I look back now, I remember how excited I would get and how proud I would be to call him and tell him about a good grade I got on a paper or exam. Even when I didn’t realize it at the time, I succeeded because of him pushing me to do my best.

How to be a tough guy (girl in my case) Les Mecs Durs (translation: the tough guys) was a phrase plastered on so much cycling paraphernalia in the Essell household. Most people know my dad was an avid cyclist. He started his bike team, Team Nietzsche, in Cincinnati many years ago, and they continue to bike on Thursday mornings to this day. In the last three years of his life, he was truly the toughest guy. He fought so hard for so long, and I am so grateful that he did. During the past few months, I had to be tough as well. I’ve never done well with hospitals, needles, nonetheless surgery. Somehow, some way, I was able to draw on something inside of me to push through, and I know it was him, passing along his toughness. God bless guardian angels.

Show affection to those you love One thing I always remember about my dad was whenever he dropped me off at school, volleyball practice, work, etc., he would always give me a kiss before I got out of the car. Always. He showed me how much he loved me every day until the day he died. His memory makes me excited to have my own family and to show my children one day a love that is full and happy and infinite. He’d always sign his cards to me, “D.O.D.” Dear Old Dad. My dad was and still is truly that: so dear.

When all else fails, have a margarita My dad even took it a step further by making his own. One of my favorite memories of my dad is his love for Mexican food and good margaritas. We’d look forward to going to Cactus Pear or El Pueblo for fish tacos, and (once I was old enough) making margaritas at home with a big bag of limes and making simple syrup on the stove. I have a funny memory of coming home one day from work, upset about something that now seems silly, and sitting with him in the living room crying and carrying on about stupid drama. After I got a good cry out, he said “let’s make a margarita!” and we went into the kitchen and soon enough I was laughing and the bad day was completely forgotten. Lesson learned: have a margarita and use it as a way to remember him.

For those who can spend time with their fathers this Sunday, cherish it! And for those who are remembering their fathers and grandfathers this year, I wish you a day of peace, memories and love.

Xoxo, Molly