May 03

Pecan Pie

Today is Dad’s birthday. This morning Facebook showed me the picture I posted of taking Dad’s dog, Petey, to the nursing home so he could have a piece of forbidden pecan pie with his best friend on the front porch. It made me sad because I realized it was the last time those two were ever together.

Before Dad’s death, Mom and Petey’s relationship was, shall we say contentious. They spent a lot of time yelling at each other, and Mom did a lot of cussing, but their love of Dad kept them together. Petey’s grief was palpable, though, and in the period after Dad’s death, Petey and I spent a lot of time holding each other. Now, Mom and Petey are friends.

That picture made me think of all of that.

Today was going to be an emotional day. I felt today looming in the future like an emotional boogeyman waiting in the dark to creep up and grab me. Some people try to ignore days like today, pretend like they aren’t happening, but I’m not a person who can do that well. My emotions will out no matter what, and I’ve learned it’s better for me to face them. If I don’t, I never how they will manifest, and that shit could get wild.

Mom and I decided to face today head on. I have some sort of bronchitis and sinus infection from hell that I spent yesterday at the doctor’s office getting stronger antibiotics for, so we decided it would be best if she came over here. We didn’t plan anything big or elaborate, just the two of us facing an emotional day together.

So, I got up this morning to shake the Viking out of bed and put on a roast. Facebook showed me last year’s picture. I went back to bed. I woke up and realized something I didn’t expect about today’s emotional day.

My two strongest emotions today were hope and love.

Losing Dad wrecked me. My father and his love were one of the pillars of the world. It was one of those unshakable truths like gravity or the sun setting in the West. Then one of those foundations of the world felt gone. The world felt wrong and scary. I got lost.

Maybe it was finally getting some sleep and feeling better or facing that picture, but I realized I have healed through some of my grief. When I was my most lost and things were the most dark, I felt like I would always hurt, like there was always going to be this toothache in my heart. I’m going to school for computer technology, and everyday I am surrounded by things that remind me of him. Six months or so ago, being reminded him as much as I am now would have had me on my couch desperately watching Bob’s Burger or Archer to calm the pain and panic, so I could breathe. Now, I still miss him, but I don’t feel like a desperate and rudderless ship. I’m not going to drown in it. I realized I’ve been feeling hope more lately instead of just the panicky struggle to find a way forward. The sleep and antibiotic are really good, too.

Tonight I found myself sitting on the couch with the Viking and the fuzzy wiener and my mom in an arm chair beside us as we were watching some British mystery.  I realized how much love I have in my life and how much love I had surrounding me right then. Hope and love for the lost girl. I wouldn’t have traded it for any book deal, amount of money, or Caribbean island.

We spent the day remembering him. We ate pecan pie. And, most importantly, we loved each other. I think Dad would have considered it a fitting tribute for his birthday.

We all made the sacrifice and had a piece in his honor

We all made the sacrifice and had a piece in his honor




Dec 20

Just When I Thought I Couldn’t Be More White Trash

Okay, before I launch into this story I need y’all to understand somethings. I’m bat shit crazy, but I’m bat shit in a super loving sort of way, not a ‘cut your ass’ sort of way. I’m generally pretty mellow about most things unless you hurt one of my loved one. I also genuinely believe in trying my hardest to be a good person. I believe being a good person is the most important thing I can do in life. I may never write anything that sells a single copy or doing anything remotely interesting or considered important by other people’s standards, but I do want to leave this place better than when I slid into it angry and covered in ick.

This belief generally means trying my best to be kind. I catch myself thinking unkind things all the damn time, but then I go back and correct myself in my head. Our thoughts become our words, and our words affect our world. It also means meeting a lot of bullshit with a smile and kindness. I know when I’m in a bad mood its because I’m tired, hurting, or sick, and so when I run into a person who is being totally foul, I try to react with empathy. A lot of times a smile and a compliment can do a lot to lift someone’s mood. It’s not always easy, and sometimes the best I can muster is just ignoring the person. Sometimes, when the person’s attitude is really terrible I go even further to be kind. Disney movies have taught me that nasty people are often the most wounded. A lot of times it works.

Sometimes, though, I really learn how bad of a person I truly am.

This is what started it all

This is what started it all

Tonight, I drove into town to pick up things for my sick mother. I decided to pick up food on my way home. The Viking wanted food from one place and a drink from another. I didn’t agree to go to both places because I’m a good person; I agreed because it’s his birthday weekend and I want to store up points for a day when I need some soft serve from OnCue and want him to pick it up for me.  The line at the first place was ridiculous, but I survived it relatively unscathed.

The line at the second place it stupid long and slow. I’m waiting through it just to get a $1.09 Coke. (I really wanted some salted caramel pretzel frozen yogurt karma points.) This place had two lanes, and  one lane had a shorter line. I gave the Range Rover in front of me about 4 minutes to take the place then I pulled up. I try to be nice and not get competitive about inconsequential things but not moving into a shorter line is just wasteful. I got to the speaker minutes before the Range Rover and order my soda.

Normally, one lane orders and that car goes first, then the next lane orders and they stack like that. Tonight, the procedure was messed up because of some sort of massive delay, and my order was in about 3 minutes before the Range Rover, making me in line before her, so I pulled forward and continued to wait a crazy amount of time. Somewhere in there, the Range Rover lady decides to start screaming at me.

RR- “Your going to get my order.”

Me (desperately trying to stay calm because this shit really doesn’t matter)- No, I ordered a while before you, so my order is next.

RR- No, that’s not how it works! They take one lane then the other!

At this point I bite my tongue. I know if I try to explain to her staggering only works if orders are taken in the same time frame, my voice will sound super condescending causing her to claw my eyeballs out. Seriously, screaming at someone at a drive through about who cut who in line is not exactly rational behavior. RR then yells something at me and makes a hand gesture. I inform her I would move if I could but I can’t because of the person behind me.

While I’m waiting for my turn to give the person my one dollar and nine cents for the single soda I have ordered, I think about why someone would act that way. I decide she is probably having a horrible night, so when I get up to the window, and guess what, it was my order *GASP*, and I pay for the woman’s order, all like $26 dollars of it.  While I pick up my soda, I hear the woman bitching about how I probably got her order then I see her bitching out the kid at the second window. I pull forward, lean out my door, and yell at the top of my lungs, “I paid for your dinner because you seem to be having a bad night. Merry Christmas.”

Let me interpret that with subtext: I bought your fucking dinner because you are being such a raging bitch that you must be having a bad night. Merry FUCKING Christmas, you miserable hag!

I fail at being a good person AND not getting into yelling matches in fast food parking lots. At least I came away with a funnier story than her.


Dec 03

Small Things

It’s been awhile. Life has been both oddly full and empty at the same time. I had a birthday, took a trip, got sick, and put on Thanksgiving dinner. There might have been a shit ton of Netflix in there somewhere.


I’m just going to start writing and see what all comes out.


In October, I went to my shrink’s appointment, and through talking to her I realized I was super depressed. I know some people would think it should be obvious if you are depressed or not, but it isn’t always especially when you have real, logical reasons to be sad. Grief and depression are sometimes hard to tell apart. I was crying every day. I had no motivation to do anything. My house got steadily more disgusting. I didn’t cook. I had no desire to play video games or make things. I didn’t even really want to read. I never don’t want to read. I wondered if I would hurt like that forever. I was also having frequent and intense panic attacks. Thankfully, my shrink picked up on it and double one of my medications. The veil is starting to lift. (My kitchen is still gross, though.)

I was afraid for Thanksgiving. My mom and my sister’s family all went to visit our family in Louisiana, and my only family with me was going to be my Viking and my fur babies. I knew it was going to be rough because it was my first since losing Dad. I was so happy for Mom going to enjoy her family, and I knew it was so good for her, but a selfish part of me wished for them to be here.  Anyway, I had to decide between trying to pretend Thanksgiving wasn’t happening or cooking a big meal, celebrating it in our own way, and accepting it’s going to hurt. I chose the second option. The Viking’s parents came over and we had a great time. I lit a blue candle for my dad as a silly remembrance and enjoyed my new family.


This is my first fur baby.

I have the worst sinus infection right now. I felt it coming on as we were pulling out of the parking lot of the hotel we stayed in Eureka Springs in the beginning of the month. First of all, Eureka Springs is amazing. I want to go there often. Anyway, I knew it was coming on but kept quiet. I was busy, and I had the stupid idea it might go away if I ignored it. By this last weekend, it was so bad I couldn’t sleep because of all the pain. It’s a sharp and maddening pain. Finally, Monday night I ask the Viking to take me to the doctor.

I know logically I should have went much sooner. I know I wouldn’t be in pain if I had, and it would be easier to get over if I’d have went before the infection was able to take such a hold of my head. I know the Viking wouldn’t mind taking be to the doctor and getting me medication. I know this.

I also know most of my life I’ve felt unworthy. I’ve felt like I can only ask those I love for so much before I become too much hassle. I’m terrified of this invisible line I’ll one day reach where I’ve asked for too much emotional energy, cost too much, or been too much trouble, and the people in my life will walk away. I KNOW it is stupid, but it is engraved in my heart, and all I can do is yell it down as a liar. So, it is a big deal for me to ask and to receive help from any but a select group of people. I was also raised by two people who grew up poor and to whom going to the doctor would often end in them getting punished. Damage like that can jump generations no matter how hard you try.

Last night, the Viking came home after a long day of work and took me to a convenient care clinic. He waited for me in the waiting room, bought me dinner, then picked up my prescriptions. We even stopped in for frozen yogurt. He could have given me money to go by myself and stayed home to rest after work. He chose to go because he knows it makes me feel loved and cared for. It was more important to him than watching Youtube videos. This is why I’m keeping him forever.


One last thing:

My parent’s girl dog moved in with us the second week of November. She’s a bit of an old girl, but I love her very much.

How could anyone not love this face.

How could anyone not love this face.

I now have the most amazing princess wars going on between my dog, my rabbit, and my boyfriend. The dog and the rabbit are finally starting to be okay with each other, even with the rocky start because my rabbit bullied my dog. The Viking and Shorty, though, continue to have little battles. One day, I was going to the bathroom, Shorty, of course, had insisted to be in there with me until the Viking made a noise in the other room. She preceded to run out to bark at him. A few seconds later, she came running back in and went behind my feet. The Viking was close behind her and chased her around my feet so he could pet her and pick her up. Then they both rushed out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. I sat quietly for a second thinking about what just happened to me, then I started to laugh hysterically. What can you do?


Oct 05

New Beginnings

Today has been an extremely bittersweet day for me.

First, my friends, well they are really family but it’s hard to explain how but they just are, had their baby today. I’ve spent the entire pregnancy praying (the closest I could come up with) for this baby. Stevie, the baby momma, had some issue that made pregnancy not so fun or easy, and at first I wanted so badly for things to go well because I love her and Kyle (baby daddy) so much, but when the baby developed enough for me to feel him, I started to love him, too. I worried over Stevie, and I worried over baby, and I loved them all. I don’t know if they ever knew how much of my heart stayed with them all the time. They also better be okay with him being one of my beloveds, one of my kids.

Part of me wanted to be with them today, but I’d have been as useless as a box of hair. Births are this exciting rush of love and fear and anticipation, and everyone wants to be there. I knew as much as I wanted to hug and kiss Stevie and Kyle and dance with Chompy Trex (not his real name, but SO his name), there were others there who should hug and kiss and dance first. I will kiss and hug and dance some day soon, at their home when things have settled.

Artist interpretation of not the new baby.

Also, quite frankly, my heart is still newly broken by Dad’s death, and I don’t think I can have a lot of joy at a hospital yet. They are still the place where I had so many complicated days and nights with my father. Chompy deserves pure joy, not my haunted, hurting heart as it would be in a hospital.

So, all hail Chompy Trex born on 10/5/15, roughly the size of a watermelon at 9 pounds 3 or so ounces and 19.something inches, my newest beloved.

What I did do today is help, and I use that term loosely, my sister move into her new house. I’m very proud of my sister. The only person I’ve ever known that worked as hard as she does is my father. She surpasses him, though, in her ability to be a loving, engaged mother. My dad was by no means a bad father; she is just that good of a mother. She and my brother-in-law have raised these smart, funny, wonderful kids. They are teaching them to be giving, kind, and mindful of others.

At one point, I sat watching my brother in-law playing out on their big, green, gorgeous new front lawn. They were all chasing each other, including the littlest, Cow Fart (she named herself that, by the way), and laughing and screaming, and it was one of the most breath taking things I had ever seen in my life. A wave of contentment and knowing washed over me. Deep somewhere in my being grew this knowledge that this was a good place for them, like a burning coal of foreknowing that her family would grow up happy and strong there. It took everything I had not to cry.

I felt Dad everywhere today. Some of it bad, like when Mom and I talked about how much driving we did between home and Oklahoma City and the hospital, or when we passed the hospital he did most of his dying in. Mostly, though, I felt him in good places. When Mom and I were trying to help unpack Cow Farts room and found this laminated sheet of pictures of Dad, Mom, their other grandparents, and everyone’s dogs they had originally made for Girl Child but Cow Fart stole. Cow Fart is a little thing still, but she and Dad had this deep bond, and even her choosing her name speaks of his spirit in her. Mostly, though, I know how proud and happy he would be to see what I saw today.

I’ve cried more today than I have in a while. I’ve hurt a lot today. I don’t think it’s bad, though. Let’s call it growing pains.


Jul 25

Grief and You, a Handy Guide

Yesterday, I went to my monthly shrink appointment. When he asked me how I was doing, I answered honestly: pretty shitty, you?

I reminded him of Dad’s death last month and told him about all the problems I was having. Some days I felt like I was made of panic and loneliness. Some days I hurt so bad, I couldn’t look at the pain for fear of it overpowering me. Other days I would spend the whole day working up the energy to clean the kitchen. Sometimes, I couldn’t even do that much and would lie in the dark and tell myself stories in my head. Good days where the days Mom came over for Homemade Family Meal night. Mostly, I’ve been hurt, lonely, and very tired.

The doctor looked at me with so much sympathy it made me ugly cry harder.

I told him I knew it was all grief, and even though this isn’t how I expected it to be, I know my grief won’t feel like this forever. I also told him I know I needed to let myself feel this pain so I can start to heal. This level of pain is temporary.

He told me I have an excellent outlook everything. I explained I decided if I was going to be batshit crazy for the rest of my life, I was going to do it well, and with flair whenever possible. To his credit, he laughed.

Then I got to Mom home, not Viking home (life is weird, don’t judge me) and I found this.

My friend Adriel sent me a copy of a piece of music he wrote and a letter telling me to read the dedication

My friend Adriel sent me a copy of a piece of music he wrote and a letter telling me to read the dedication

dedication So, I set to sobbing all over again. Earlier, even before the shrink, I had cried earlier when I was thanking my friend Renee for using her ninja mind powers to get me out of the house the Friday before. I hadn’t even realized how much ninja mind trickery she had used until I was discussing it with the Viking the night before.

Today, someone posted about a loved one losing someone soon, and I typed out this long post about caring for her loved one and herself, then decided it wasn’t the best place. Here is the right place

Grief and You, a Handy Guide: (As told by a complete novice at being a human and grieving)

Grief doesn’t always happen like it is shown, you know, every where. Dad’s death wasn’t a surprise. I had planned my grief according to the way everything shows grief happening. Week one: Shock and being busy with the plans. Week Two: being there for Mom and start facing my own pain. Week Three: the week of suck and self care. Week Four: Start the process of healing. Yeah, so much no, did not happen like this AT ALL. Okay, well, week one happened like I thought it would, after that everything went all wonky. 

I think my brain released all sorts of strange chemicals, or I was super good at lying to myself because the first few weeks I was mostly fine. The night before Father’s Day sucked, but even that was in a manageable range. I felt sadness and pain, but nothing like I was expecting. So, a month later, when I’m hurting so bad, I was confused as hell. I was supposed to be getting better by now. How is it possible that I’m hurting worse? Why am I crying in a Mexican restaurant because Dad loved the place? My grief was sneaky ninja grief. Now that I know what is going on, I can forgive myself and be a bit kinder to myself about crying at everything and having bad days.

Mom, on the other hand, has been a damned superhero. She’s been my rock, along with the Viking. We also created Homemade Family Dinner Night. She comes over in the afternoon and we hang out while I cook a good homemade meal. I love cooking for family, and it makes sure we both take care of each other.

You never know how much those quick phone calls, texts, and Facebook messages mean. If someone you love loses someone they love, send them those messages. I promise you it means something to them. Sometimes people would text or message me, and I would respond with one or two words, but it wasn’t because I didn’t appreciate them, my brain was just not capable of responding.

We realize you were there for us at the funeral/memorial. I’ve always eschewed going to funerals because I never thought it would mean much to the person you were going for. God, was I wrong. When my friends showed up for me, and some for Dad, it meant everything. I might not have been able to express it enough because of brain melt, but I will always be thankful for it. Thank you.

Remind us as the weeks go on that it is still okay to be hurting. I feel like such a baby for still hurting. I know logically it is normal to still hurt. I know I’m doing okay. I know this in my logic brain. Unfortunately, my logic brain has less control over my feelings than I would like. Stupid logic brain.

Some of us will never ask for the damn help we need no matter how bad we need it. Seriously, I have this wonderful group of friends, and I never ask for help when I need it. I’m stubborn. I get that from Dad.


That’s all I have figured out right now, but I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.


Jul 19

I’m not even going to pretend any of this makes sense

My mind is all jumbly, and this blog will probably be just as jumbly.

Friday, I had my first social outing since my dad died. I mean, we put together a fairly large 4th of July thing at our house, which turned out wonderfully, by the way. I passed my first big hostess test, or as we called them, woman olympics. I hadn’t done anything with friends, though. It felt good.I even held a huge snake.

I look like hell, but still, I'm holding a huge snake

I look like hell, but still, I’m holding a huge snake

It couldn’t have been more different from the weekend before.

I was alone Friday and Saturday, and I was so depressed I could barely move. I missed my dad, and I felt desperately alone. I didn’t want to bother anyone with my sadness. Tina had her own grief she was dealing with, and I was afraid if I called Mom, I would only depress her further. So, Saturday when I woke up feeling like I was made of loneliness, panic, and sadness, I forced myself to focus on the show I was binge watching and tried not to think and feel. It was the first time in a very long time that I felt like it was a little dangerous for me to be alone.

Later, I talked to Tina and Mom and realized I was being stupid for not reaching out. Grief shared is made lighter for everyone, not heavier. I’m just not good at asking for help. I survived it. I learned a new way not to be stupid.

I meant for this to be a longer blog, but PMS is a bitch. I have a migraine and need chicken wings.


Jul 09

Dear Ndugu,

I’ve spent the day crying on and off about Tina’s dog, Ndugu.

Sane people would be totally give me side-eye for being broken up about another person’s dog. More empathic people would say I’m so sad because his passing is so close to my dad’s death and it is mingling with the grief that is already there. Or, they might say I’m sad because Tina is obviously hurting, and we hurt when people we love hurt. There is some truth in all of that, but it is only a tiny part of my sadness. Only people who knew Ndugu get it.

There are some creatures (sometimes maybe even humans) who are just beings of joy. We all have met someone who is always smiling, unfailingly kind, and really cares about others. Those are the people version of Ndugu, but Ndugu was better at it. Ndugu had the kindest, purest, most loving soul of anyone (?) I’ve ever met.

Yes, I know most dogs are creatures of love, especially if they are in loving families. Tina definitely provided him a home of love. Aside from my father, I know of few better dog people than Tina and her husband. Ndugu was more than that though. He was more than just happy or loving; he cared about his people. He worried. I know this because I was often at the receiving end of his worried care. When I would spend the night, I slept late. Ndugu always clearly thought this meant something was wrong with me, and he would wake me up to make sure I was still alive then run off to do important Ndugu stuff. He could always tell if I was having a hard time emotionally, and he would do little things to take care of me, like staying up with me instead of going to bed with his parents. I can’t tell you how many nights I spent talking to him and finding comfort in his little old man face.

Ndugu knew a lot of my secrets, fears, and hurts. He cared for them and for me. A lot of humans have a hard time with that.

I'm pretty cute

That old man smile

The world is better for having had him in it. I think the people who loved him are better for having been in his life. And, while the platitude “they’ll never be truly gone if you keep them in your heart” drives me up a wall now, he will be remembered.

The crazy, emo, little shit


Jun 22

Tequila, Father’s Day, and Frankentoe… But Not All at the Same Time.

So, fourteen days after Dad’s death was Father’s Day.

When I found out like nine days ago, I was FUCKING PISSED. Jesus, the universe was being a total twat-faced asshole. I mean I knew it was pointless to be mad at the calendar, but some times silly things like rationality are secondary. I decided to curl in a little ball on Father’s Day and pretend it wasn’t happening, because that method of dealing with shit had been so useful before. Then I got an invite to my sister’s in-laws for Father’s Day. My first impulse was “Hey how about I just take a hammer and bang the fuck out of frankentoe? (More on frankentoe in a bit.) Sounds about as painful.” I got to thinking about it and realized it was the best idea for a day which was going to hurt no matter what.

My sister married my brother-in-law when I was 18, ahem, 15 years-ish ago. His family welcomed us with open arms, and his father was kind to me from the very moment I met him. I spent a lot of years there feeling uncomfortable and out of place at family gatherings, and his dad always made an effort to make me like I belonged. They always sent love and care while Dad was in the hospital, and the days after my dad’s death, my brother’s mom was so kind and gentle with my mom, I cry whenever I think about it. These are the very best kind of people. They made a potentially shit, painful into a sad painful day surrounded by people who loved us, understood it was painful, and just wanted us to be there. Also, my brother’s mom and the Viking decided we are having a big 4th of July at our house. I’m daunted because my house is a mess, but excited. The Viking is so excited to have everyone over, it makes me far less worried. Gawd, I picked a good man.

Now, tequila…

Thursday and Friday night I woke up several times in the middle of panic attacks. I think saying I wasn’t doing well is sorta an understatement. Saturday night, I was terrified to lay down to sleep because of panic attacks. I was feeling wound up and destructive. I was angry. There were also four damn jugs of out of date milk in my fridge along with a couple of puddles of decomposed something. There was also a bottle of high quality premixed margaritas in my fridge. I pulled the fuck face, dick bag garbage bin (it gave me frankentoe)  into the garage, opened the margarita bottle, and started cleaning. I got blitzed ass drunk and cleaned my fridge. I got the whole thing clean and realized I was too drunk to take the last bag of trash through the back door, down a little step, and put it in the bin. So, I left it in the middle of the floor, warmed up some tortillas, and started to play Minecraft because trying to sleep while the world was all spinny was bad. That was my bad night, blowing off steam. That was me being self-destructive. /facepalm

The next time I logged on to Minecraft I had no idea where my character was, how she got there, or how to get back to home base. I guess it’s better it happened in game than in real life?

On a side note, I’ve learned meditation is a pretty decent substitute to drinking until the world spins.


Thursday, I bent down to pick up our giant trash bin off the ground at the end of the drive way. The edge of the lid got caught under the nail of my big toe and ripped the fucker down to the bottom cuticle. I drug the bin to our garage, grabbed the groceries from my car, and put them away in my kitchen while my flip flop filled with blood. Our kitchen floor looked like a murder scene from my attempts at impromptu surgery.

This was the end result of my attempts at wound care

This was the end result of my attempts at wound care

Finally, I did the only sensible thing I could do; I called my mom. She fixed me up far better. Now, this might not seem like a big trauma. I promise you, if I had insurance, I would have made someone take me to the ER. I might have even tried to get that shit amputated. This hurts worse than a burn. I did not know there was pain worse than a burn. Just take the top knuckle and give me pain medicine and call it good. The Viking just scoffs at me when I suggest it… daily.



Jun 13

I Miss My Dad

Normally, I try to come up with a little more creative title than today’s, but it’s the truth. I miss him. I will never smooth back the four hairs on his bald spot, kiss his forehead, and tell him ‘I love you, Old Man.’

You bet your ass I was the only one who got away with calling him that, too.

I’m lucky. I had him as a father. I have him as a father? I don’t know.

I can tell you this, I feel more loved and less alone than ever have. I promise y’all I’ll never get around to sending out little pretty thank you cards. I’ll get distracted by shiny things, as is my nature. But, everyone who showed up, brought over food, or has given a piece of yourself with sympathy has made a difference. I was terrified before he died, I would find myself in a shaky world with a far smaller safety net. My world is steady, and my net is strong.

More than anything, though, thank you everyone who has helped me take care of my mom. This morning I got to shake my Viking awake and ask him to go to Chickasha to get a new Netflix machine (our old one was a victim of the tigernado) and get all the meats for us and mom from Jake’s Rib. I was feeling sad and empty, and I wanted to do something with my partner to make me less sad and empty. He’s been there in every way I’ve needed. I lost my daddy, but my mom lost her mate. The idea she doesn’t have anyone to shake awake when she is feeling sad crushes my heart. She is strong, and she will survive.

My sister made these videos for Dad’s memorial. I want to share them with you.

This is the first one.

Here is the one we closed the memorial with. It felt right to leave with a hopeful song.

They fill me with sadness and joy at the same time. They are so perfectly my father.


Jun 12

Foot Baths and Saber Tooth Tigers

I fell asleep during therapy today.

My therapist went to the restroom, and in the two minutes she was gone, I fell flat out asleep. I got back to my mom’s house and tried to use her foot bath (you know the awesome jiggly massage tubs of warm heaven)  from like 1987, and the fucker was broken. I still had hot water in it, and apparently that is all it takes to put me into a mini-coma for FIVE HOURS. I woke up with one foot still in the tepid water and the other one out of the bath at an odd angle.

I went to Wal-Mart to pick up some bits and stuff for both Mom and the Viking and I. I was pushing the cart along, exhausted, and realized why all tribes of humans feed people who have lost loved one. Like I sorta got it before, but now I really get it.

You are too damn tired to acquire food. You know you need it, but damn, your entire body is like “Fuck you, I need a nap and why aren’t our feet up, you crazy bitch.’

I was pushing a long that cart and KNEW knew if I had been early man and I was out trying to procure food on the Savannah and a saber tooth tiger, or what the fuck tried to eat humans back then, came after me, I would lay down and tell the thing to please go for my throat because I was just too tired to have survival instincts.

He’d be all like “mmm a plump one…”

You hear people talk about it. You think you understand, but you just don’t. Seriously, I didn’t even know until today. The whole first part of this week I was on this weird energy high. All I could see were the blessings mixed with the pain. I still see them, but I have no energy to respond. It’s like “oh, lovely, blessings and such, where’s the netflix remote? And, seriously, why the fuck are my feet so fucking huge?”

I was also so glad I didn’t run into anyone I knew. I can fake a smile at strangers and mumble about being fine.

Had a loved one seen me my only response could have been “I fell asleep during therapy, and I’m wearing my dead dad’s slippers. He left one in the drive way for me. He clearly wants me to have them. They are mine. Yes, I’m aware this is technically public. I FELL ASLEEP IN THERAPY.”  I would have then shuffled off without ever letting the other person respond.

Grief is glamorous shit.


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