It's Hard to Go Through Life without Your Daddy by Your Side

Twenty-two years ago today, we held my father's funeral service. I remember it pretty clearly considering the trauma we'd all just been through. I don't remember much of the day, but I do remember the service. I remember what Mama wore. I remember where we sat. I remember what it did to my heart to look over and see my only baby brother sobbing like he'd never stop. He was only 13. Still had baby fat and those big, soft eyes they lose when they become men. His are still there a little bit. I love that man.

I remember also that I was dating a good guy. He really did love me. He always did. It was his birthday. He gave it up to be with my family while we grieved out loud. That was a sacrifice, wasn't it? Former Marine. Tall, dark-haired, blue-green eyed Irish. I talked about him a few days ago. I defended him like I do people I love. Maybe I was a little extra-fierce defending him. I guess he never really had anyone to defend him that way. And we all need that. I hope he's doing fantastically well. I hope he reunited with that boy of his. That's what would make my heart happy. His getting back to the real love of his life.

I'm pensive today. There is just too much going on. I wish I could drop it all and go see my Daddy. He's with me and I feel it today. I hope he brings me courage and strength and all that gentle, intense love that he always showed me. I need him. 

I find that I try so hard to channel him. His kindness, his acceptance, his thoughtful way of slowing down to consider what was presented to him. He was a good man to me. He was the best father I ever could have asked for. That's a weight of its own for me.


I'm missing that baby brother today too. The one who dropped everything when our sister needed him, despite a whole heavy life of his own weighing down on him. He's a good man. And a good father. I'm proud of him. I hope he knows that. I always have been, even when he's got his head up his butt where there ain't no light.

I still haven't managed to tell the guys about what this week is for me. There aren't many things I've held back. I don't know why I held this. Probably because my father's illness and death are the likely cause of all the madness that followed. I didn't kill my father, but I did let it kill me a little. I was too soft and too loved and too safe for that not to send me over the edge for a long time. I may still be there.

But today, in my father's honor, quietly, I will got herd mechanical cats into asking for money. And they will take that and they will do better for people like my father. For people like my Jay. People like our Steve-O. Death is death. Death at the hands of the government has a place the blame can lie. I want to make them carry every ounce and every burden. I want to teach people that it's their intrinsic right to ask for that. You lay down your life and the least you deserve is to not let it kill you when you get home. 

Twenty-two years of feeling angry and helpless and carrying this knowledge of what happened and why has been heavy. And I can use all of that to make things better for others. I think that would make Daddy really proud. And that's all I've ever wanted to do, is make him proud of his blue-eyed baby girl. I hope that I can carry all of the strength of his love through today and the rest of my life on this particular journey. A cause to go with the feelings. He's with me every second. I love you, Daddy.

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