Daddy's Girl

There was a time when I was daddy's little girl. When the sun rose and set around my father. My mom loves to remind me of the time when I was 5 and very specifically told her so. Even when they divorced all I wanted was to be daddy's little girl. It didn't work out that way. My dad went on to start his 2nd life. I went on to start my 1st.

It's over 10 years later. Now I look at my daughter, who believes that the sun rises and sets around her father. He's the fun parent. The background noise to writing this post is them giggling and laughing as they wrestle and hold dancing contests. They cook, play sports, read and live for one another.

It doesn't bother me nearly as much as it did my mother. It probably never will. Maybe it's because I know how much a girl needs her daddy. Maybe because I never, not even in his death, gave up waiting for my own to come around.

There Are No Goodbyes

Dear Dad,

It's a little over a month since you passed away and every night that I close my eyes you're all I see. Sleeping has become an effort. I have no idea how to process this anymore than I already have. I was with you when you passed, and it was so peaceful. You took your last two breaths looking into Carmen's eyes and then you were gone. When the priest came in to give you your last rites, you opened your eyes every time he became dramatic or repeated himself. It was entertaining to watch. Tina tried to say it's because a greater force was reaching you. Uncle Tommy and I are under the impression it's because you weren't impressed with the theatrics. Knowing you all my life, I'm inclined to believe we are right in this case.

There's not a day that goes by that you aren't on my mind. There are things that I really wish we could have talked about, and in my opinion you went far to early. I was looking forward to spending the summer with you, and just hanging out. But life typically makes it's own plans, and as I've learned so does death. The last day that we got to see each other when you were awake was when I came up to the hospital with my wedding dress. I found out after the fact that wearing before the wedding (aside from fittings) is bad luck. I think the powers that be can make an exception in our instance. It meant so much for me to have you see me all dressed up. And from your reaction, it meant a lot to you too. I'm glad we got our dance even if it was early.


The ceremony was perfect, and the day was supposed to have thunderstorms but instead we got the best weather we ever could have hoped for. Just as it started the clouds opened up and let in so much sun. The sunset was amazing as well. All in all, we got married, and we did it our way and I know you were proud. The only thing that could have made it better was for you to be there with us walking me down the aisle. Mommy did instead, and as honored as she was, she wished you would have had the opportunity.

I know that Boo is having a hard time of all of this. I hear it in her voice every time she calls. Sometimes I don't know what to say, so I just let her cry. Sometimes I just cry with her. Mommy refuses to accept that you're gone, and I know that she put off going to see you because that would have forced her hand. I know you understand that.

I wish there was a way to make this easier on everyone. I wish there was a way to bargain with God, or the devil, and be able to bring you back for the next 20 years. I know that we didn't always get along, and I know that we weren't close in the typically family sense, but I miss you and need you so much to be in my life.

I keep coming across situations where I want to show you things. The day after your funeral we took Emma to the American Museum of Natural History, and when we went into the ocean room, all I could think was, "Daddy has got to see these pictures, he'd think they were so neat." But there's no way I could send them to you. Boo signed onto your email account one day, and I just sat there staring at the computer screen. I'd give 5 years of my life for you to have been on the other side of the computer for just 20 minutes.



I dunno what to do anymore. We sprinkled some of your ashes at the beach in Charleston. It was strange, it was overcast the entire time we were there. The moment your ashes hit the water, the sun came out. I'd like to imagine that was your way of telling me you were happy. In September, Dylan and I are going on your weekend voyage to Montauk to join Boo and everyone else to scatter your ashes. Maybe that will help. Maybe it won't. Maybe there will come a day when I can listen to your voicemails, and not sob. Everyone says it gets easier, but they say a lot of things that aren't true.


I just hope that you're at peace now. I hope that you're fishing somewhere where the beer never gets warms, and the bait is always fresh. And I hope that when it's my time to go, you'll come and meet me with a crab trap in hand.



I love you.

jen.

I'm considering this still to be April 2nd.

Since I haven't slept, and haven't had the internet today, this is still April 2nd. I did not already miss a day!

Dear Boo,

I know you're only a dog, and you cannot read this, but I want you to know that I'm going to miss you like crazy over this summer. I wish I didn't have to go to NJ under these circumstances, and I wish that since I do have to go, you could come with me. You're my best friend, and the best dood in my life. You're always so dedicated and loyal to me. You love to snuggle and don't expect me to put out. Nothing is better than that.

While I'm away I have a few requests.

Please don't pee on my floors a lot. I'm leaving you with two boys who have anger issues and hate to clean. Please god hold your movements.

Also, stay out of the trash. Eat your own food!

No running away, which you rarely do, but just sayin'. This isn't Homeward Bound, NJ is far away, and well to be honest you're kinda dopey. I don't think you'd really make it.

I will come home as often as possible to see you and hang out. I will also call to talk to you.

I love you lots,

- mom.

The Beginning of the End

So today launches my stint with NaBloPoMo. For my first of various type postings that deal with letters, I shall start with an open letter to my body.

Dear Body,

I know that I over exerted you last night on our what seems, like monthly, overnight cleans at work. I know that I used muscles that we forgotten existed. Scrubbing a porch with a deck brush will do that to you. I feel that I owe an extra special apology to a few particular parts of you.

Hands, I'm truly sorry that you are blistered and sore. I will do my best in the oncoming days from causing you to grab things and bend fingers. I am amazed at your longevity while holding on to a deck brush's solid wood handle for over three hours. I'm sure if it had been the toes responsibility they would have fallen off.

And then there's the back. Oh back, we have such history together. Most of it consists of you going out at the worst times imaginable. Remember when you went out when my mom visited Charleston for the first time? Remember how the feet were so unloving of you and kept walking even though you would scream out with searing pain? Yeah, so do I. This time you didn't go out though, this time you bore the brunt of my abuse and now you just ache. And ache. And ache. In muscles I didn't know the human body even had. It seems that you and the arms are working together this time!

Arms, seriously, I know I gave you the biggest work out next to the hands, but really, can I PLEASE take off my bra? Please? I know that you are not happy but do you really think I was thrilled to clean for 10 hours? I swear this was not some evil plan I hatched to torture you. I do owe you thanks for stopping the dull ache in my joints that caused me to almost cry when trying to sleep this morning.

Well body, for all your hard work I can't wait to reward you with a nice, long hot shower. So lets go get one!

Lots of love,

- jen.

Oh So Neglected

So I started this blog hoping that maybe just maybe, I'd actually write more. Obviously I'm not keeping up with it. Which is why I signed myself up for NaBloPoMo. April's theme is letters, and god knows there's nothing more that makes me happy then composing open letters to various people.

But before this month long journey starts, I feel that I should say something about my last post. My dad wasn't able to have his lung removed. When they opened him up, they found that the cancer had spread to the chest lining. It wasn't picked up by the PET scans because it was directly behind the initial tumor. Since then, he's undergone many months of chemo, radiation, and various pills. His tumor has grown, and his breathing has become difficult. I'm relocating with Emma this summer to NJ to hang out and help take care of him. I'm not sure what the future holds for us but I know that I have to stay positive for him.

Which leads me to the only good news I've had in a while. Dylan and I are getting officially married on 4/20. While neither of us smoke pot, it just makes it that much more funny. It's also Hitler's birthday, Passover, and the 10 year anniversary of the Columbine shootings. Needless to say, it should be interesting.

That's all I have to update for now, but I'm anxiously awaiting the start of my letter writing month.

My Daddy

My dad has always been super hero strong. When I was growing up, he was my hero. There was no stopping my father. No one could beat him up, and if you thought your dad was tougher, than I'd have my dad come pick me up and you'd see his size and change your story. My dad stands 6'4" tall, and looks like he has just swallowed a basketball. Even if you saw my dad today, you'd never know that come Monday, he'll be missing his lung.

I spent the day with my dad today, and it was one of the best days we've shared together. I refused to treat him like he was sick, and he insisted on making cancer jokes. I haven't always gotten along with him, there have been months that passed without us talking. Most people don't understand how we can function like that, and for a long time, I didn't understand it myself. But it's just the way we are. It's the way our entire family is. When times are good, they're fantastic, but when times are bad, well... they're lonely. I feel guilty that I've continued the trend. That I haven't been here to help my stepmom out. That I played along thinking that his cancer was merely a cold that was going to go away on it's own. That it was nothing serious at all. I wanted to forget, I wanted him to just be better. I just wanted him to stay my super hero father.

I know that he will walk away from all of this okay. I know that it's going to take some recovery time. He'll be a little slower now, and more appreciative of the small stuff in life. And there's this part of me that's thankful for all of this. Because it's made him just a little more humble, and a little more reflective on choices he made in life. Maybe when all is said and done, there won't be anymore months that slip pass between us, maybe we'll be just a bit more closer.

I need that to happen, and so does Emma. She needs to really get to know her Pop-Pop before we miss out on a second chance.

The War Amongst Mommy's and Why I'll Never Fit In

Perhaps it's because I live in conservative South Carolina, or maybe it's my noticable tattoos, yet when I walk into a room that is filled with mothers I panic.

I am a loud, foul mouthed, tattooed, yankee mother. Yet even when I go back to New Jersey I have the same feelings of panic and paranoia. If ever the reason for the North and the South to revel in unity it would be against mothers like me. I do not fit in with neat houses, and well groomed appearances. I do not fit in with the Donna Reed's or June Cleaver's; and while I enjoyed both shows on Nick at Nite the reality of it all is, I will never fit in with those mothers.

The war being waged amongst mothers always leaves me speechless. I have yet to understand why so many women want to judge other women on the one thing in their lives that is most important, and the one thing that all women are winging. This isn't rocket science, there aren't formulas to follow and exact measurements to tediously tended to. This is motherhood. It's the closest thing to war most of us have seen. Let me break it down:

Newborn Stage : Pyschological warfare [sleep deprivation and unusual wake times]

Infant Stage : Bombings [pooping and throwing food, no one walks away completely clean]

Toddler Stage : Hand to Hand Enemy Combat [you must keep the enemy away from what they desire most, everything they can't have.]

Preschool Stage : Pyschological Warfare Enhanced [now not only must you tend to 3am bad dreams, but will also be barraged with questions about everything reasonable and inane.]

School age and beyond... well, I haven't reached that point yet but when I do, I'll be sure to tell you what it entails.

Everyday I make choices about my daughters life that I second guess. Should she go to summer school? Should I let her dress herself from now on? Should I enforce her cleaning her room? Is this worth the fight with her? Is she eating healthy enough? The list goes on and on. I'm far to busy trying to do what's right by my daughter to judge other women trying to do the same.

Unless you are causing or placing your child in serious harms way, chances are I have no judgement about you. So why judge me because I do have a lot of tattoos, or because I don't dress up for a 4 year olds birthday.

I suppose that's what I'll never really fit into the "Mommy Wars", I'm busy living, while they're busy judging.