Not in the right place...

I have been in love twice.

Two times. My whole entire existence. 

Like truly let go and let be.

Once with a man and once with a woman. 

This may be the part where my mom stops reading. I doubt it.

If he was alive today and I could read this to him, because he did not have Internet or anything of the sort, he would've said, and trust me he did...on more than one occasion...once picking up ice for coolers and once because both of us were just sobbing because sometimes what you think you want, isn't what you really want...,he would've said...

Sis? Can you handle this? And I would've said of course Dad. 

I have tried in the past few weeks to reach out and re evaluate and do all sorts of things that growth from loss require. The truth is, and trust me, the truth hurts...I didn't grieve properly. Any of it. 

Loss is loss is loss. It all affects us differently. I remember a guinea pig death, that changed a little girls life. Sure we can laugh about it now. But at the time? It wasn't funny to her. 

The holidays are incredibly hard for me. And not just because of my most recent loss. But because of so many of them that came before it. 

Yes. I feel. I think. I analyze. I pick apart. I break down things to all the bits and pieces. I always have. I need to know how things work. It infuriates those that care about me. It infuriates me that they think I do that. 

I'm not going to apologize for infuriating you. I'm not going to apologize for wanting more from someone compassion wise. I feel misunderstood and that bothers me. Because I've never felt that way before. I'm pretty transparent. Too much. 

If I in any way have reached out to you recently in whatever way...it took a lot for me. This takes a lot for me. To be lonely in a room full of people is, well, a lonely place to be. My talking about it, posting it, acknowledging it is huge. And this was the first step. I don't want pity. Or sympathy. 

I want you to know that just because it's a holiday, it doesn't meant someone isn't hurting. 

PS. Not worried about love finding me. I'm just not in the right place. :) 

Authentic

There are several times in your life where you will want to know if something you have in your possession is authentic.  Otherwise, the value of it drastically changes.  Or your decision to have it in your possession in the first place changes.  If you bought for instance a coin, which was supposed to be rare.  And it was supposed to come with a certificate of authenticity.  You would probably not purchase this coin, without this proof, or this documentation.  The same with a car, a house, sports memorabilia, etc.  You get my point I hope.  Whatever it is, hell, even pets, we want pedigree papers on their authenticity.

The only papers of authenticity we come with personally are our birth, our origin.  And even that is sometimes debatable. Sure we have some that prove and show our worth or value in dollars, but that isn’t something you can really put on a piece of paper is it?    And normally when you meet people for the first time they don’t hand you a spreadsheet with all of this pertinent information on it.  These are things you learn, if you so desire, over time.  What a person loves, what makes them laugh, what they spend their money on, how they save their money, what they value, what they don’t value, how they treat people, how they don’t treat people, especially children, what kind of music makes them move and what kind of music moves them to tears, or does music move them at all.  My point is we don’t know an authentic person from a fraud when we first meet them.  And sometimes a person’s true colors take a great deal of time to unfold.   

Before everyone gets excited about trying to figure out who the person is in my life that I just recently realized is a fraud, save your energy, this isn’t about a specific event or person…it’s just about learning things as I get older.  And asking myself what things are most important in my relationships with people. 

It’s not a secret the holidays are hard for me.  Always have been, always will be.  They were when I had two married parents, and I was childless and single.  They were when I had two separated parents, still childless and single.  They were worse when I had two divorced parents after 40 years, again with the no children and single.  And I was pretty sure hard wasn’t the correct word to describe anything that I was feeling when I went through the first one having one parent dead, knowing he would never see me with children and he would never spend a holiday with me when I wasn’t alone.  

It’s also not a secret that after I lost my father, my social life drastically changed.  Good, bad, who’s to say or judge and I don’t really care who says or judge’s, it just changed…death forever changes you.  It creeps in when you are laughing and happy and says, hey, remember me, and don’t forget.  Or when you think you have some peace and quiet and can accept the reality of it, something or someone will upset the calm that you have and you will remember that you have experienced a profound loss.

I am incredibly different from most people I know.  And maybe some of my acquaintances would disagree…but that’s why they are acquaintances and not friends.  My true friends will tell you it’s the truth.  Different yes.  I do not, cannot it, will not, possess the skill to be someone I am not.  I don’t know how.  I am not programmed that way…I know there are times Sister wishes I could pretend to be, but I can’t.  If you put me in a room full of 20 people for one hour and then when that hour is up, change the people and put 20 different people in the room, I am the exact same Tiffany I was with the first 20 people.  I have nothing to prove to any of them, except to treat them the exact way I want to be treated, which is like a human being.  

I remember at my first big job out of college, the first time they told me the CEO was coming down to work out.  Ummm ok.  “Does the whole place have to evacuate or something?”  “No but he likes a certain treadmill that’s in front of a certain TV, on a certain channel, and the music needs turned off and he needs two towels and make sure his water is cold.”  “Ummmmm, does he pay more for his membership?”  “No Tiffany, he is the CEO.”  “But he pays the exact same fee as the janitor, right?”  “Tiffany, please just do the job as we asked you to do.”  “Oh, I will do it, but it’s not because I agree with it, because it goes against every fiber of my being.  Unless he bought all this equipment and he sweats gold that I need to collect in buckets, his damn dollar has the exact same value as the guy who just got hired to sort mail. And I really can’t work for people with this kind of philosophy.”  I wasn’t asked to get ready for his arrival again.  To be honest I don’t know that he worked out that much. 

My point and my philosophy are simple.  I do not change to accommodate the group of people I happen to be around. If I have to, then something is wrong.  Either with me or the group of people I am hanging around.  Authenticity has never been as important as it is to me right now and I am not really sure why.  I am sure my therapist can tell me.  But at least daily I am disappointed to learn that someone I thought was or could be really isn’t.  And maybe I shouldn’t blame them; maybe it’s just not in the cards for some people.  It’s like breathing for me, to be who I truly am.  And maybe that is scary to be so raw and honest…but it’s scary to me to not be.   

One of the fastest ways to piss me off, if you really want to, is tell me I over analyze.  Or that I feel too much or think too much.  If you really want to rub me the wrong way, start off with that and you won’t have to worry about going any further.  How do you humanly, honestly tell someone they feel too much?  Maybe it’s to make up for those who don’t feel enough.

Anyway, wouldn’t it be great…if people came with certificates of authenticity?  To save us all time.  Some of our greatest possessions, our greatest assets are our relationships…we devote tremendous amounts of time to them. It would be nice to know an authentic one right out of the gate, so you could know its true value.  

 

2 Story Beer Bongs, Martinis and Chicken Lips

2 Story Beer Bongs, Martinis and Chicken Lips-Dee Dee B.  

Only in a college town could you experience all three of those things within 30 minutes. Who knew a cold wintry Wednesday night could be so full of such activities? 

 

Sadly, a visitation for a dear friend’s mother is what actually brought me to Mac City.  I love this place though so I should really come more often. Macomb, IL I mean…not the funeral home. Since my Dad passed away it is one of the hardest tasks for me…to attend visitations and funerals for others. It brings back the most horrific memories. I now know the pain and suffering of losing someone very close to me and it’s the hardest thing ever watching friends and loved ones also experience it. 

 

The evening wasn’t all doom and gloom though. I was able to work in a visit to my son Ethan’s apartment. On the way there while we were trying to find said apartment we happened upon some youngsters doing a beer bong from their second story apartment to the ground on a crisp sub-freezing evening. I have never done one of those and let’s just say my sister Tiffany wasn’t going to let this night be the first. #funsucker Odd as it sounds I think that I was more concerned that they didn’t have coats on than what they were actually doing. 

 

From there we went to a quaint little restaurant called Chick’s on the Square. I cannot believe that this was my first visit there. I guess I just try to get to Aurelio’s when I am in Mac City so it just never worked out even though I had heard several good reviews. They specialize in Chicken Lips which are really just oversized all white meat chicken strips cooked to perfection and served either naked, or soaked in either their signature (buffalo) lip sauce or a delicious bbq sauce and the best loaded potato soup that I have ever eaten. They offer several other things as well. We all ordered something different and everything was delicious. They have a wonderful full bar and a giant menu of martini concoctions, #score, did you see that? Martinis! I love martinis and it is such a treat to get one. Sister enjoyed one as well except hers rendered her unable to drive us home. Thank goodness I only had one even though I really wanted two and was more than capable of making the 60 minute drive home, but not before a fun pit stop at Farm King. Macomb really has the best, most interesting Farm King around. You should check it out sometime! It is probably even more interesting after martinis! 

 

The moral of the story is that I am trying to find some good in every bad and also that clearly I need to get out more! 

 

 

Disappointed

Hi Dad. Are you watching the Bears this season? I'm guessing not. Because they are horrible. However, when I look back at watching them with you, it was almost as painful as when they lose. I think it's funny how I sometimes watch them with more faith than most people take to church. They could be losing in the first quarter and you would be done. Okay. Honestly. I hated watching games with you. But there was this one time you came to Uncle Bills garage. Pretty spiffed up actually. "Making your rounds." I'm not sure why you stopped but you voice text me first to see if there was any good food. Lol. There was only one dish you liked. But you ate the hell out out of it. And bad mouthed them the whole time. I couldn't decide if I was more angry I had nothing else to serve you or if you bad mouthed my Bears at my place of "worship." 

Bottom line. They still suck. So I guess you still are bad mouthing them. Or fishing? Budge just got there. Or he's on his way too. Maybe you aren't "there" yet? And if not, what the hell is your delay? Do I need some prayers? Well, not really but don't we all? I just wonder where you are is all. 

Brodie and I were taking out the trash tonight and for the first time since I've lived here I saw them picking the beans. Like right across the street. Brodie went nuts. I mean nuts. I was afraid he was going to get picked. It was not a sound he's heard in awhile. Apparently he remembers. He would not come back. He wouldn't move. He just stood at the edge of the driveway and barked. They were filling the wagon. And I was trying to figure out how I could run and grab the camera and take a picture and leave the only thing that matters to me, barking at the side of the road, and through tears I knew I didn't need a picture. You and I were there. And it wouldn't have meant the same thing to anyone else anyway. 

Oh Dad. So many venues. So many outlets. So many ways I could say what I want to say. I guess I choose to write to you this way. Apparently you disappointed some people. I remember a time when you disappointed me. I bet you disappointed a shit ton of people. Funny thing is I bet those same people forget how many years you supported them. Or provided for them. Your ex wife and children included. The best part of all of that is that we are all human. And every damn day we wake up we disappoint someone. And yet no one. Not one person can come to me and say, I have come here never disappointing anyone.

Just over a year of your passing and I can tell you this. I was not nice. I was not to some very nice people. The people who knew why or who understood why I may be doing that, gave me the space I needed. And were there when the dust settled. The ones who didn't understand? They flew away. Like the leaves are falling off the trees. Gone. And my support group got really small. And then I found some new leaves. 

We disappoint people. It's what we do. I think we are born to. I'm not sure I was prepared to hear that a year after you died. I kinda like to tell people while they are living you know? But maybe you knew. And maybe you didn't care. Some people don't. 

The Bears and Cubs disappoint me every year. Perhaps it's why I'm alone. I'm always expecting this year to be the year all the caring adds up.  But I was sitting there today watching the game, praying for a miracle. And I bowed my head and I thought of my sister. Who says that that outcome that I pray for every single day is a fairytale and fairytales don't come true. Only in the movies. 

I don't know how my movie ends yet. I know I disappointed you. You did me too. I know you can't make the Bears win football games. And I really know you probably don't even care. But I do know beyond anything else what you did care about. And I'm sorry. I am so so so very sorry. I tried. 

I love you. Brodie says "woof" poppa. 

The First Year is Behind Me...

Hi Dad, 

It’s me. I wonder if you can get letters in heaven. I cannot believe that it has already been a year. Your passing was so sudden, traumatic and earth shattering and most of the time I still cannot even believe that you are gone. Just last summer I was giving you hell for wearing those ridiculous muscle shirts that large men should not wear and now I would give anything to see you in one of those again. I hope Jesus doesn’t mind them because you really did love them. 

We speak of you often, like pretty much every day at some point or another. At least now the talk mostly generates laughter.  It was tough at first. I was very angry and felt incredibly cheated, but I do believe that there is good in this world and I refuse to let this experience harden me any more than it already has. 

You left me with some pretty lousy things to take care of and clean up and sadly I am STILL working on them with still no light at the end of the tunnel. My situation could be summed up in a song by the Band Perry…All I want to be is “Done”. You preached keep good records and document everything. You would be so proud of me because I have done just that. Almost everything and every conversation word for word. Call it “Big Brother” or just a “Wise Woman”, but unfortunately it’s just been a “harsh reality”. Sticks and stones may break bones-but words break hearts. Death brings out the worst in some people, but you already knew that and attempted to give me a heads up to this. I have not even been too happy with myself on a couple of occasions. 

You have probably noticed that I put our house up for sale. I have been back and forth since the day you died on whether or not I could stay there without you. I mean it is really hard. If I go left out of my driveway I have to go by your house where other people live now. If I go right out of the driveway I have to see the land you worked for others for your entire life. I had finally gotten to a good place in my heart and decided to stay. Everyone was relieved by this decision. The back and forth and house hunting was wearing us all out. I had contractors & electricians giving me some quotes on making some cosmetic changes, new carpet, new tile, etc. We were even going to put up a small shed to store all of our crap so I could regain my garage again for actual vehicles, but sadly that all fell through for now, but you know all about that too. So I told David and the kids that I was leaving with or without them. So for now my house is for sale and if I get it sold why then great, I can move on to new chapters in my life...a fresh start so to speak. If I don’t well then I am perfectly okay with that too because I love my house and that has been the hardest part…leaving it. 

I hope you are helping with the harvest in heaven. I know that it was one of your very favorite times of the year-the rewards of your labor. Harvest season is beautiful here so I can only imagine what it must be like there.  The kids are good, crazy busy in school with tons of homework, but good. You know how I hate back to school season, this year is no exception. I miss them not being home all of the time. They are growing up way too fast! Please keep an eye on them as everyone needs a guardian angel. 

I miss you so much sometimes that I can hardly breathe, but I will be okay! I promise. 

Love you Dad, 

Dee

I walked straight through hell with a smile…because that’s just what I do…smile 

September 23, 2014. One year later. The date reads the same, except for a difference of only one number; but, what a difference that one number can make. If that four were a three, I would be back there, on that day; but, instead I am here, where everything has changed, especially me. 

Death is totally in the numbers. It was the most beautiful warm and sunny Monday morning of the 9th month. The time on the clock was 9:30 a.m. My Grandma Louise called me at work to see if I had talked to my dad. I had not talked to him since Friday morning. It had been 3 days. I was the only one nearby with a key to his house so I told her that I would run home on my lunch hour, pick her up and we could go check the house. She said that his truck was home but that he wasn’t answering his phone and she was most concerned because he hadn’t come over on Sunday morning for coffee like he always did every week unless he was out of town. After I hung up the phone the hairs on my arms stood straight up. I knew immediately that I needed to go check the house right away and that it couldn’t wait until noon. My heart was racing and my body was shaking. I had no idea what I was about to find, but somehow I already knew it was not going to be good. 

I was able to reach my brother to meet me at the house. I picked Grandma up as promised before I went to Dad’s house. I still have no idea why I did that other than I had told her that I would. The three of us found him looking like he was resting comfortably in his bed. He had passed away in his sleep, twonights before. After frantically shaking him and begging him to wake up I ran to the kitchen and immediately called 9-1-1, I really don’t know why. It was very clearly too late. The operator asked how old is your father: 66. When was your father last seen alive: I don’t know…my brother saw him 2 nights ago and he was fine. Ma’am Are you alone? Yes, very, but no…my brother and grandma are here with me. 

From there the numbers of hours turn into the number of the days that slip into a count of the weeks, which amount to the passing of months – starting at a crawl but before you know it, fly by at a run. And pretty soon you arrive at a year-365 days. Before too long, not having a father anymore is no longer my first thought upon waking or the last thing I think about before falling asleep at night. It becomes, perhaps, my second or third thought of the day, until it hits me mid-morning or even mid-afternoon. Then, on some months, the 23rd comes and goes and I realize later; oh my, it was ten months ago yesterday, wasn’t it?

As I embarked on the almost a year point, I began to feel a strange new sadness about leaving this horrifically dark year behind; because, as much as I am ready to begin anew and trust me I am, I feel as though that switch in year means I have to permanently leave my Dad and everything he represented behind. Sometimes it feels like he just died yesterday. Sometimes it feels like he died in another lifetime. I keep hearing a line from the Reba McEntire song, The Greatest Man I Never Knew, “The man I thought would never die has been dead almost a year.”  I really, really miss him. There are some days that I think of him and smile or laugh. And then there are the other days where I am consumed with sadness and frustration about why this happened to us. I hope that time will replace most of the other days with smiles and laughter. He would want it that way. My dad was a truly remarkable man. The problem is that I didn’t fully appreciate that until he was gone. To me, he was just Dad. Dad the farmer. Dad the School Board President. Dad the Firefighter. Dad the guy I thought was super strict with me while growing up. Sometimes even Dad the jackass. We had very similar personalities and often butted heads, but at the end of the day he thought I was all it. It’s funny how you don’t realize how important someone is until they are no longer there. I don’t believe that I ever disrespected him, but I am positive I never showed him all the respect that he deserved. My dad was the proud, brag about your kids and grandkids type. Even loved his furry grandkids and talked about them as if they were human. My dad lived and loved with uncompromising morals. He never made a million dollars. He never went to college. He wasn’t famous, but he touched the people around him. People loved him. He was honest and fair. Another line from the same song, “Everything he gave to us took all he had.” That describes my dad. He gave us all he had, even in death, his time, his money, his knowledge, his determination, his stubbornness, and his strong spirit. I would not be who I am today without him and neither would my children and one day their children and so on. Dad’s influence will live on for generations to come…Buckman Strong! I am thrilled that we lived so close to both of our parents and grandparents while my kids were growing up. My kids are so blessed with fantastic memories of all of their grandparents. They are truly lucky kids!

The pain that came after his death, the frustration, the unique situations of his estate, the loss of hope and screaming at God for doing this to us, that wasn’t the hardest part. That was the normal part, the grief. I learned of things which I wish I had lived the rest of my life never knowing. The hardest part about death…is the part that lies in losing the ones who stayed. Now believe it or not, my dad gave me fair warning just 3 short months before he died of what was to come. I just didn’t understand what he meant when he said it nor the magnitude it would have on my life. He tried to prepare me; I was just completely naïve to it and who ever wants to talk about those things. Like I said, I thought that my dad would never die, but somehow though he knew it was coming. That summer he had serviced all of his tractors and left the manuals in the seats. He made the rounds visiting people, some that he had not seen since shortly after high school or in the service. After the visitation we chuckled because so many came through the line telling us that they had just recently seen our dad. We decided that he must have been on tour during his final months. 

So today, one year after the most terrible thing that happened in my life, I realize my dad is the lucky one and is at peace. Is he in a better place? How would I know, I have never been there and for goodness sake QUIT saying that when going through a receiving line at a visitation. In my opinion the better place would be right here with me in my loving arms. Those who got to stay…I lost them. I can’t find where they’ve gone. Including myself. I struggle about not knowing who my family became or maybe who they never were. Some turned out to be complete strangers to me, and I found myself feeling completely alone, so I just built walls and see myself more distant from the ones I love than ever. There was pressure to move on and make major decisions within hours of my dad’s death…this has led to deep regret. 

I don’t think I will ever get that image of his lifeless body out of my head, ever. Nor will I forget my husband and others carrying out his body bag. I do know that God had a plan and I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes so it just had to be that way. The very worst part of his death is that my dad died with a very broken heart. I often say that is exactly what he died from. 

Death is not something that you “get over.” The truth is I still hurt. It’s not a constant, overwhelming, unbearable hurt, but the little things, within which grief hides, that hit me when I least expect it. Unfortunately I will always carry my grief with me. It is made of permanent loss, of some lousy lessons, of some forced decisions, of old memories, and of new memories without my dad. I have never experienced such a dark and constant storm in my entire life-especially one that affects every single bit of who I am. No one can be prepared for a major death and however badly you think it is going to hurt, it is going to feel a million times worse.  Time cannot fix everything. Time just allows you to find a new normal. I am not getting over this, not now, not ever…I am just getting used to it. I don’t feel that time has really healed anything, for me it has simply just passed by. The biggest thing I have learned through this though is that the people I thought would be there and have my back didn’t and the people I never expected became my biggest supporters and for as long as I live I will never forget that!

In closing, I don’t have any idea why, but the song Leader of the Band by Dan Fogelberg, makes me cry my eyes out every time I hear it. My Dad was a lot of things but never a musician. I guess we could call him the leader of our family though and I am not sure any of us knew that he was the glue holding it together all along. “The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old, but his blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul. My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man, I’m just a living legacy to the leader of the band, I am a living legacy to the leader of the band.”

 

 

The Garden

I've always wanted a garden. No idea why. I spent some time in Gram Pearls picking berries. But I didn't plant anything. Planting stuff is hard. A lot of work. Takes a big commitment. And the elements? Man...A hard rain. A bad wind. A drought. Too many factors to take into consideration. And I have no freaking clue when to plant what and when. And there are so many things that can determine the outcome of it. Bugs and stuff. Varmints. I can't watch the thing for 24 hours for the love. I had a garden like that once. Almost killed me. Spray this. Don't spray that. What if it doesn't taste good?  What if it fails? Too much damn pressure if you ask me. 

So I told someone I've grown fond of recently...that I've always wanted to grow a garden. They say "why haven't you?"  Well? I don't want that kind of commitment. Why? What if it blows? "So what if it does?" Well that's a collosal waste of time and money. "So? How will you know if you don't try?" I don't want to try. "Why?"  Because I said so. 

Interestingly enough. I plant one every single day. Just didn't know it. And now the son of a buck is growing a shit ton of weeds. "So? Weed your garden." How do I do that!? "Very simple. Figure out what you want in there and what you don't. Are you planting filler? Ya know stuff to make it look pretty? Or is there really stuff in there you actually want and can use?"  Well hell. I'm not sure I "want" any of it. "Then weed it. Who is telling you you can't? It's yours. Did they help you plant it? Do they help you take care of it? Did they pay for it?"  Well, no. "Then plant a new one." I don't know how.  "But you do. You just aren't ready to stop planting stuff that doesn't actually harvest." 

If you are reading this, do me a favor. Take care of your own garden. Life is a lot simpler when you do. If you spend most of your time looking at the weeds in mine or those around you, chances are yours is turning into a giant pile of crap. You have no clue what it took to plant mine. As I do not yours. So just worry about yours. I will worry about mine. 

And it's going to be beautiful. 

To the one left behind...

I will never know what it would feel like to be the only living parent a child has left. For whatever reason, accident, sudden death, terminal illness. Whatever. I will never know. Because I cannot have children of my own. And if I adopted, well I start out the only living parent a child has. 

I also don't understand the depths of a parents love for their children. So I can emphatically say that I have no idea what my fathers death has been like for my mother. 

There are some who would say who cares, she left him. Why does she have feelings period? Well because they spent 40 years together that's why. If you knew THE WHOLE story instead of the one painted for you, you would understand a lot more, but that's not what this blog is about. 

My siblings and I were three very different people prior to his death. I know none of us are even remotely close to those people now. For the one left behind, that has to be hard to watch. Your children changing right before your eyes, or what you can hear in the sound of their voice. 

Let's be honest. The world expected my mother to go first. At times I am sure she personally wished she had. But she didn't. And the double whammy about this whole thing? We also had to grieve the loss of her departure from the marriage as well. She just remained living. 

So what I would say to you, the one who was left behind...because you went through this as well it was just a long time ago...and I will only speak for me...

You moved away, for a new start, in a new place, with a new life. No one supported that more than I. You also were no longer right around us in proximity. You kind of went "out of the way" but to where you finally felt like home. Don't regret that, nor do I. You had a second chance, you wiped the slate clean. 

Not only am I the most sensitive of your three children but I also was the one who physically spent the most time with you and Dad. The good, the bad, the ugly. The death of the marriage was extremely difficult for me as I was trying to keep Dad functioning and running a business. I watched his heart break. It's a terribly hard thing to watch when you are watching your other parents blossom. I will not say Dads death was hardest on me personally because I can't accurately say that. I can say it affected me differently. Because I witnessed so much. 

My love for you has never changed. I know we are not as close as we were or talk as often as we did but if you ask my friends I'm not doing that with anyone anymore. 

Just because I don't come down there doesn't mean I don't think about you. I do every single day. Brodie adores you two. And I wish you were closer so he could spend more time with you. He was raised in a home with a revolving door. This death and our move out on our own has been socially challenging for him as well. 

Half of me is because of you. You don't lose that or forget that. Life has thrown me so many curveballs. And you were there, at the end of every game, ready to take me home. You are and will always be my biggest fan. 

You are not thought of less because you are all we have left. I'm just going through a process of sorting it all out. We weren't prepared for his death. You never are. But we really weren't prepared for what followed. Even if you saw the writing on the wall all those years ago. 

I have your heart. Your spunk. And when people meet you they immediately know where I was hand crafted. I'm sad some of the newest people in my life will never know the other person who helped me become me. 

There is nothing you can do to help us. Just support the process. Realize it takes time and so much effort. I kind of feel like I woke up from a storm and I'm just crawling out of the debris. 

I love you with all my heart and soul. And so I say to you, to the one left behind...

Our love for him is intensified because of his absence. Our love for you has not faltered or changed it just has not been as easy to see. Try not to think of it as you living in the shadows his death left behind, but rather you are shining the light for our way out of them. 

1600 Miles

Almost 1600 miles. I should've drove around the block to get exactly that many. But I didn't because I was too tired to give a rats ass. 

I'm not sure what "drove" me to do this trip. Because honestly I was going to Florida to sit on a beach. Not in a car seat. 

I guess part of me wants to spend what life I have left going to the places my parents took me as a child. That was a lot of places. But these places meant something to them. A different time. A different place. A different marriage. A different goal for their lives and ours. 

Regardless of how I arrived at this decision for my 42nd birthday, I got there. And it needed to be with the people who knew me best. I needed to be able to not speak and have them know exactly what I was saying...

So what did I learn in 1600 miles? 

Plans are ok. It's ok to have one. And an itenarary. And you will probably deviate from it. I knew we would when we didn't leave at exactly 7am. Like I planned. 

When driving 5 different people you should stop often. And feed them. 

That driving up the coast of Michigan doesn't actually show you the coast. That by taking the "faster" route you may encounter several accidents during rush hour and that you probably should've let Sister pee when she said she was going to have to. Always stop when she gives you a warning. 

Feed your passengers. 

That the hotel of your dreams is probably that way for a reason. And that garden view is not a view at all but a driveway. 

That if you are patient a lodge of epic proportions awaits you to accommodate every need you have. In the middle of nowhere. And you will not want to leave. And that if they tell you to go to the restaurant down the road and to take the free appetizer vouchers that the kicker is you should just pay for them because you won't eat the meals that you have to order to make them free. 

That if you stopped at every "sale" sign on the way you would never make it. Anywhere. 

That in one hour you can see the best and worst of humanity. That you will meet a group of random men who will help you carry out your goal, a 1600 mile goal, and they will do it without hesitation or reservation. And be honored doing it. 

And in a flash of a second you will see how inhospitable people can be. And you will forever more be grateful of men like those I met who were the polar opposite. 

And you will realize why Rita hates the Root Cellar. And always has. And always will. 

And you will realize why a cabin in Northern Wisconsin is Heaven. And how important it is to spend just one day laughing uncontrollably with people you love. On a boat. Anchored. And a lot of beer. And good music. And just laugh. My God. Just. Laugh. And you will breathe. Air that is untouched by hate and anger and fog and uncertainty. You will just breathe. 

And to never order more than the combo platter. Ever. 

And that when you are tired you just want to get home and that it will hurt people who want to see you and who haven't seen you. And it will hurt you for hurting them. 

That Sister will tell you if she wants to do a wine tasting. Otherwise. Drop it. 

And that you will be grateful to come back to a job where people finally had your back. 

And that you would be able to leave your prized possession in the care of someone who cares. And that will allow you to be free for a minute. 

You will learn to cherish the little things. Or you should. You damn well better. And your heart will be full of thanks and gratitude for those who helped you get there. Even way before you ever got there. 

I love you Dad. Every day. 

Dust in the wind...

http://youtu.be/g0zSB2WEtwU

Hi Daddy. 

I rarely. Rarely. Ever. Go back and read any of my blogs. I can't. A huge percentage of them are extremely raw and whatever I feel at that moment. I never know what those moments may be. Or what they will draw out. And sometimes I have no desire to feel what I felt in that moment. 

You would for sure not be happy with any of my current news. Mostly it's just that I'm getting old. And I'm not one bit happy about it. Had to get bifocals. Have a bad hip. A bad foot. Bad attitude. That would probably be your least favorite. 

So many things died when you did. I'm pretty sure the weather did. I remember thinking that the week of your death was the most beautiful days of the year. Perfect temperature. Perfect wind. Perfect amount of sunshine. Perfect. And then it went to hell. The wind hasn't stopped blowing. The precipitation hasn't stopped falling. The temperature hasn't stopped dropping.

There have been holidays that have sucked. Birthdays that have sucked harder. Life changing moments that require acts of courage I didn't know I could possess. Life goes on. Like the wind. It blows. But it goes on. 

My car is acting up. I call you to ask what it may be but you aren't there. But the phone rings with the hope that you may be. That you may get the message that I'm never going to leave. It blows. Like the wind. 

I don't see you. In my dreams. Like I want to. I feel you in them. But I don't see you. I wake sometimes thinking I have been with you, but I put the dreams on rewind and you aren't there. I just feel you there. And sometimes that's enough. And sometimes that's not near enough. And it just aches. So I close my eyes and pray you come. And then? And then the wind blows. And then sometimes instead of being mad, I just whisper quietly to myself, I hear you dad. I hear you. 

All we are is...

Happy Birthday Dad...

Even though she was the last person you would've wanted me to call, on my entire drive to your house, praying that what little I knew was a sick joke and that I would arrive there and you would be wondering what all of those people were doing at your house, I tried to call Mom. At least a half a dozen times. For reasons I will never know, she never picked up. When she did finally call, I do not remember what she said to me, but I do recall what I said to her. "Dad's dead." I think she may have said what in the hell are you talking about, and I think I just repeated it. 

I didn't know in that moment how upside down life would turn, I just knew I wanted my Mom. I'm sorry Dad. But I did. And I remember wanting her there for all of it. And I remember being told it wouldn't be a good idea. And I remember feeling like we had to go to a neutral place so I could see her. And I remember thinking it was complete bullshit. And I remember how she was treated. Good and bad. And I remember thinking she was instrumental in helping you create us, why is this even an issue. And I remember the thousand other thoughts that were going through my head about what we had to do and how we would get through this horrific moment. And what I had envisioned needed to take place and how it would all go down is not even a millimeter close to how it's all actually unfolded. 

Tomorrow you would have turned 67. Tomorrow we would have taken you to dinner, maybe Red Lobster, maybe Scapechhi's who knows. Maybe nowhere until Saturday so as not to ruin your Fridany night card night. But instead? Tomorrow we will celebrate your birthday without you. Saturday we will sell your prized possessions and close just one more chapter of a life that ended entirely too soon. 

I don't know if you are watching us. Or if you are fishing with Uncle Oley on a lake somewhere up north in Heaven. Or if you and Jesus are playing poker. Or if you and Grandpa are arguing. Or if you are leading a 4-wheeling expedition or got back on a snowmobile. I have no idea. Sometimes I feel you. A lot of times I don't. But if you cannot see us, I hope someone up there tells you what an amazing job Sister has done with what she was handed. And about all the complete and utter bullshit that comes with closing someone's estate. How daily she's questioned about why she did this or that. And they've probably told you I've been very little help to her. And that Brothers tried to remain neutral.  

Sister asked me to come do a walk through of the shed a week or so ago. Her car was there so I was relieved. I hadn't come near it since your death. When I walked in though, she wasn't there. And I closed my eyes and I swear I heard ever moment I ever spent there. Kicking the dirt, playing basketball, calling you in for dinner on the CB. Putting air in my tires. The time I electrocuted myself cause I was standing in water. Handing you Windex and falling off the combine. (I've never used Windex since FYI.) The smell of snowmobiles. The rattle of your 4-wheeler pipe. The chirping of the birds who somehow always nested in there. The starting of the combine. And as the tears started flowing I screamed. As loud as I could. "Dad, please, where are you." And I walked through the whole shed alone looking at every single thing you ever laid your hands on and I opened your 4-wheeler box for a token, a momento, ANYTHING to feel you. And it was just empty. Nothing. No feeling. No overwhelming sense of calm. Just raw pure anger. At a lot of things but mostly having to sell your life Saturday and all of the people who do not know why we are or have to. You know why. You've always known. 

I am a profoundly sad human right now. And there are things that have been done by those I loved since your death, that cannot be undone. And maybe there is a blessing to that. Right now it just hurts. 

I am so sorry I cannot be with you on your birthday. I hope they have cake where you are. You know Sister loves cake. She would send you one if she could. 

There is a hole in my heart from your death, that I know can never be filled. And sometimes that hole is open wide and it hurts and other times I can cover it up and it tries to heal. It just feels like every time it's close to healing someone or something rips the band-aid off and it starts all over again. 

I miss you. Something fierce. I love you. More fierce than that. Happy Birthday Dad. 

Cliche

Death changes you. Period. Not all better. Not all worse. It just changes you. Period. 

I don't know if I would've been able to watch my father suffer. He had a terminal illness. It just wasn't something you could see. I suppose I did watch him suffer. I just didn't know it. Nor did he. But is it easier to watch someone suffer and then they pass? Or something so sudden and unexpected? 

I could throw a shit ton of quotes here or analogies about living each day to the fullest but that's bullshit. We don't. We have people, places and things that will drag us down no matter how damn positive we feel life is. It's just life. My father used to say, "It's a bitch, life, and then you die." And trust me when I say this will not be a favorite blog of mine amongst my own friends and family who are out there right now fighting the fight just to stay alive. I hate Cancer. I hate drugs. Even the ones I take to stay somewhat sane. I hate anything that prevents us from being who we are. I can now put in that God only gives us that which we can handle. Well I'm sorry. But sometimes that's bullshit too. Because some days it's harder than others and there is no reason why. You just either dig deep and hope you can dig out. 

I'm not the same person I was September 22nd. To be honest with you I don't even know who that girl was. I don't remember her. I don't remember a minute before the minute Sister called me and told me my father died.  Maybe I never will. Maybe I never want too. 

A co-worker asked me today if anyone had taken a step back and recognized the personal loss I experienced. Not just the end result. Or all the bullshit that comes with tying up the loose ends of a life that wasn't expecting to end like that. And you know what? Yes some people have. But I wouldn't, COULDN'T be my sister right now. Well probably ever, which is why we were made so completely different.  She personally has had to put all of that aside to get Dads affairs in order. All while finally realizing for the first time in her life, that people do not always mean well. That people are for the most part selfish assholes. Dad adored her. Worshipped the ground she walked on. But she also didn't have to experience his true heartache. And see it. And live in it. Which I did. BUT. She just gets to deal with this crap, which frankly is so much worse. I am sorry Sister from the bottom of my heart. That you were chose to do this. My only saving grace is that you wouldn't approve of how I would've done things so I think he made the best choice. 

Food doesn't taste the same. Sunsets don't look the same. The sun doesn't feel the same on my skin. I hate winter. And not because this one sucks. My relationships are different. I've alienated myself from friends and family because I don't even know how to function around what my life was BEFORE.

I mean well. I try to live an authentic life. And if you think I CHOSE this life, you are dead wrong. No one chooses to be judged. And no one is born judging. I try to be a good friend. A good employee. A good sister. A good daughter. 

I miss him. I miss it all. The sale of everything he ever loved and touched is coming up. And if I thought the contents of his home was tough. It was nothing compared to this. And I'm not ready. I can't even go to Maquon. Driving there two days in a row to get in a car to catch a plane damn near killed me. That which doesn't kill us right? Bullshit. That which doesn't kill us just makes us hurt. And angry. I don't feel fun anymore. I don't know what I feel honestly. I am not even sure I am feeling at all. 

All I know is I am tired of the cliches. 

2014-Chapter One: St. Pete Beach, FL

At aproximately 5:55PM Eastern time, as the sun was setting in St. Pete Beach, Florida, I walked you out in front of The Tradewinds Resort and put you out to sea. It was not the plan I had intended but I made due. I had decided that from now on I would take you with me on my journeys and leave some of you at all of them. Mostly so that I can feel like a part of you was/is with me wherever I go. 

It's been a good trip. We waited too long to eat one night and got cranky with each other but after we are we were all good. 

Sister, Percie and I took off on our own adventure today for Fort DeSoto Beach. A place known for its sand dollar finds. Sister by some act of God, found an intact one. I hope she gets it home in one piece. I'm not entirely sure how she found it because she was most of the time with her head down writing notes in the sand. 

The first full day we were here was Sisters birthday. It was rainy and cloudy so we went on a road trip. There is a bar called Jimmy B's so of course we had a few there! It was a good day until the lawyer called and I hate that Sister has to fight these battles, but we did our best to get through it and enjoy the rest of the day. I wish people knew the whole story. I wish they had an inkling of the mess you left us to sort out. Especially her. I know if you were alive you would say don't pay no mind to the gossipers. Talkers going to talk. And haters going to hate. Sometimes it's just not that easy. But I will try. I am trying. 

We ended her birthday with cake on the beach. Perfect for her. 

The rest of the trip has mostly been R&R. It's hard to imagine these guys doing nothing but that's what they did. And we got burned. Second day of course. 

All in all it's been a great trip. I'm ready to get back to Brodie. Back to reality. Right now though? Reality blows. Yes I still love my job and I miss them. I was hoping to have some news about my personal life to share but it looks like that's going to take a little more time. I'm so scared of getting hurt I think I sabatoge my own happiness not even realizing I'm doing it. That and I require a lot out of a person. According to Sister I will be alone forever because I'm too picky. I think when it happens it's going to be amazing because I refuse to settle. I just need to be patient and hope everything happens as it should. Patience is not my strong suit. 

Your equipment auction is coming up. I am truly not even sure how we will get through that day but I guess just as we have all the other shitty ones. 

You loved traveling. You loved the beach. I hope a little of your spirit is in The Gulf. Like the tide, the memories of you go in and out. Like the waves, sometimes grief overcomes me. Sometimes feeling as if it may suck me under. But it pushes me back up to the shore and I can breathe again. I feel you in the wind. In the crunching of the shells beneath my toes. In the cold water crashing into me. In the song the gulls cry and carry into the wind. You would've loved this place. 

I love you Dad. And miss you something fierce.