Dear Oprah,

I don't wanna bring things down here, but I'm still mourning, even though my life is back into full swing.

They say the phases of grieving a loved one is shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression, acceptance and hope.

I'm wondering, dear Oprah, if you have ever done a show that included the phase, retail therapy?

I'm not a shopper by nature. I don't like things. I'm more apt to purchase things that are disposable, food, travel, and flowers. Clothing has always been optional. Insert laugh here.

But lately, I find myself wandering in and out of stores, picking up things that I know I will use, maybe I won't use, must have, really want, not sure about, might return, oh my God, LOVE and the list goes on.

I just hit another birthday and it is September. Nostalgia kicks in, Autumn is around the corner and I always tend to 'school shop' a little more around this time of year, getting new digs for a new year, new semester, new life without my dad?

Not sure about that last one.

I tallied up the inventory...cute clothes for out and about town, clothes for teaching, clothes for practicing, clothes for dating, YES, clothes for auditioning and new bedding, yum.

The total price tag was shockingly low...used coupons, discount cards, gift certificates and certificates that I get in the mail 'cause I sign up for 'em adding my birthday so I get 10-20-50% off stuff when September rolls around.

I usually feel guilty when I buy stuff for myself.

But now...

I feel pretty, oh so pretty.

I don't feel bad at all. And I'm not in debt...

Ok, maybe a little, but it's manageable as long as I don't continue this phase.

What would Suze Orman say?

What do you say?

I think it should be added to the phases of mourning.

My mom finally went out and bought new clothes for her gorgeous self.

'Bout time.

So did I.

Kath, my sis always does and always looks fabulous.

This is out of my nature.

I'm writing about it so I guess I'm thinking about its roots.

All I know is that I look good despite the many things that I have experienced as of late.

It's only a mask though, because when I come home, it doesn't matter what I look like, what I have, it's what's inside that makes me feel good.

I love my father. And yes, I'm speaking about him in the present.

I've thought more about calling him over the last week and a half then I have in a month’s time that passes so fluidly in a normal year.

I like that. I'm not sad about it.

I feel him everywhere, in the present.

I see him in the sun that sets here by the beach. As the pale yellow and blue bleed to deep orange and pink. I see him in the traffic. I hear him when I pass by a store on the 3rd Street Promenade, playing The Rolling Stones.

If anything, I feel him more around me then I ever did before.

I'm not happy he's gone from the physical world, but I'm happy he's everywhere, now.

Oprah, I'm not quite sure what you believe about the after life and the like.

I'm not sure what I believe.

All I know is that mourning, this process, has been crazy scary but also really cool.

I'm not excited by it, but I wonder about it and am aware of all of these feelings, like growing pains when you were a kid, adolescent and adult.

All the same feelings that I had everyday when he was alive are the same, but with a new twist.

It almost makes me feel younger, newer, fresher, because he's with me when I experience something that's banal and extraordinary.

Sort of like getting a new dress or top. It's a fleeting feeling of excitement, I know.

But I kind of feel it even when I do laundry, get a cup of coffee or walk along the shore.

All the same things I used to do before on autopilot, have a new co-pilot alongside me. Like I'm showing my dad my life here. One he's never seen in person.

Shopping might emphasize that joy. Or it might just be that I like shopping. Who knows?

All I know is that my sadness is shifting. It's still there but there's a presence with me while I feel it. Maybe it's a cotton/cashmere blend. Maybe it's my dad.

I wonder if you could explore these phases that aren't so defined by doctors, psychologists and the like.

I wonder.

Until then, I have a staggering pair of strappy sandals to don and a silk dress that wants to be taken out for a walk.

Sweet things,

Laurie