Happy Birthday Daddy … I love you and miss you every day …

I love my family.

With that said, I’ll continue.

At one time, my family embarrassed me. We all go through it, the nosy mom during your teen years, butting heads with daddy, senile Grannies, annoying siblings, drunken uncles. Or in my case, Uncle Asshole and his whole trilogy. I call his story Anus Wars.

Eventually I got to that grown-up part in life where the embarrassment is actually a source of pride that I actually turned out NORMAL, despite the obvious genetic hurdles facing me. I used to shake my fist and say “I’m a TRIMBLE dammit, none of that Dale in me!” Trimble is my paternal family’s name, and Dale is from my mother’s side, where it seems most of “the crazy” sprouts from. My middle name is Dale. I know you all thought the “D” was for DAMN-AMAZING, but alas, no. I have the middle name of a dead NASCAR star. And a chipmunk.

Anyway, they don’t embarrass me so much anymore, but damn can they get on my last nerve. Before I tell you this story, let me quickly give you a bit of background. Ready?

My first cousin Debra has two siblings, a younger sister, Lynn , and a now deceased younger brother, William aka “Buddy”. Debra and her siblings are not only my cousins, but my Aunt, Aunt and Uncle.

WTF, right?

Bear with me.

My late aunt (dearly departed) was quite the wild woman in her early years. She had her children young, then left them to fend for themselves while she was drugging and drinking it up. My maternal grandparent’s legally adopted them when they were kids in order to be able to provide for them. So by the legal definition, my cousins are also my aunts and uncle and my mother’s nieces and nephew are legally her sisters and brother. This also means that their kids are my second AND first cousins. Good lord it’s like we live in Kentucky. Thank goodness all that is on HER side of the family. Heh.

So anyway, get the gist? We are close. Like, legally even. Well, most of us. Anyway, Debra is in the midst of battling cancer and is raising the second of Lynn’s two children, having already raised the first who is out on her own now. Lynn (my cousin / aunt – and don’t even ask what hybrid of that word I came up with for her) is a woeful excuse for a mother and has no business around that child. She has been an addict most of her life. Two of her male companions overdosed and died in her company. Several years ago, she was arrested and placed in prison for sale of controlled substances. Her young daughter came to live with Deb and her husband at that time. Since then, they have raised her as their own, providing for her and are giving her a life that she would never have with her own mother. The times she was allowed to visit her mother post-prison, questionable events happened, so that stopped. They have had temporary custody for years,and recently, my still drug-addled cousin has started making noise about getting her back. She works as a cook at a local squat & gobble, is still using, and her home has a revolving door for thugs and folks that do not need nor are allowed to be around children. She is pulled over on a regular basis and her vehicle has been impounded more than once when it’s out with dealers on a crack loan. How she keeps getting it back is beyond me.

Debra and her husband have been asking her to sign custody papers for months, and she has refused. Her older child even tried to get her to go, and she said that she was going to “get better and get ____ back.” To which her own daughter replied ” Mom you said that 10 years ago when they took me in and you haven’t changed yet.” She still wouldn’t sign. This has caused great stress to most of my family, mostly Deb, who really doesn’t need the added stress. The signing of the papers would ensure that they would not have a battle and that ______ would stay in her stable home which is really the only one she’s known. Everyday, Lynn would call my mother, complaining that everyone was against her and she’d never see her daughter again and blah blah blah and on and on. Oh, the paper’s talk about my time in jail. Oh, they talk about how many tickets I’ve had. Oh, they make me look like a bad mother. Oh, no shit?

Tuesday, I’d had enough. I had tried to stay out of it but just couldn’t take it anymore. You know that saying “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy?” Yea, my mother wasn’t happy, and hey, shit rolls downhill. Debra was also on her way to MD Anderson for tests and that is baggage that she didn’t need to take along.

So, when I got out of school, I went to her house and had a chat with her. Basically I told her she was signing those damn papers and I meant NOW. She said she didn’t have enough gas to get to the attorney’s office. I told her she could ride with me. Then she said she had to go visit a friend in the hospital and needed her car, and she didn’t have enough minutes on her pre-paid phone to call him. Before her next excuse spun me into an all out frenzy wherein I woke up in prison and my mother was interviewed on Dateline, I decided to resort to the only thing you can do to get an addict to cooperate.

Bribery.

I bought her $60 worth of gas, a pack of cigarettes and a 30 pack of Natural Light Ice which I held hostage ’til after the signing. Hell yes, I enabled her ass. I would have used the Devil’s tail dipped in ink made of kitten blood to get her to sign those papers. And I knew she needed basic necessities, so I told her after she signed the papers I’d take her to WalMart. I mean come on y’all, she’s still my family, and despite her faults, I love her and I don’t want her to be without. And that’s what kills me. I love her and I hate what she has done to herself. When I was a kid, I IDOLIZED all of my cousins, her and her brother especially. They were both so funny, so full of life, the jesters of the family. Her brother, my “councle”, was in the military for many years and did great for so long. Until he got out, came back to this town and took that path so many take. He overdosed on Oxycontin and died 8 years ago. I hate the life they chose and what it did to them, to me, to everyone who loved them. So I can’t just turn my back on the one that’s still alive, not completely. I remember when Gregory’s best friends and co-workers did somewhat of the same to him, and how he was devastated.

Alright, let me get off the pity path and get back to my story. We went to the attorney and she signed the papers. Begrudgingly. I hugged her, told her I loved her and that this was the best Valentine’s gift ever that she could give to her daughter and her family, and I promised her that I would bring _______ to see her with Deb’s blessing. Then we struck out for Wal-Mart. And on the way, she got pulled over and ticketed for not wearing a seat belt. I swear, she has a black cloud over her, much of it of her own making, but still. We had just left the office and were two red lights down. She claims she was pulling the seat belt from the holder  to put it on after she lit her cigarette. I can also say that I’m pretty sure that cop was looking for her. When we left the gas station, we turned on the road to the attorney’s office and on the way he passed us. I was behind Lynn and saw him tap his brakes and turn into a parking lot. At the time I thought ok, coincidence. When we walked out of the attorney’s office, he was parked up the street at the courthouse annex. I noticed because it was directly behind where we had parked. He was in a slick-top (no lights) unit and is the traffic enforcement officer. Lynn pulled out before I did because I got hung in oncoming traffic and aforementioned red lights. As I went to turn on Hwy 31, I saw blue lights. And her SUV. Needless to say, my first thought was thankfulness that those papers were signed. My second? Her ass is going to jail. And frankly, thank goodness I didn’t give her that 30 pack of Nasty Ice because she would have been well into a can or two by then. By some Festivus miracle, all she got was a ticket. Her license and insurance were fine, and no outstanding warrants. Phew. I do firmly believe that the cop targeted her vehicle because it has been involved in drug deals before, and obviously they are familiar with her. Which really kind of sucks actually, but that’s how things work.

So anyway, we go to WalMart, I get her some groceries, some toiletries, etc. Oh, and one of her phone cards, a $45 one. But one thing you have to know before I tell you the next part, it’s never enough for her. She wants more and more, gets demanding and pissy if you say no. My mom gave her 3 pairs of reading glasses two weeks ago, and she wanted a new pair that was $19. I said no. She said she’d just shoplift them when I walked away. At that point I threatened to leave her ass in there grocery and beer less, and she humbled up a bit. When we were checking out , I laughed and said I was going to use my receipt for taxes as a charitable contribution to break the tension. Looking at it now, that was actually a really shitty thing to say on my part, but y’all, my nerves. She has that drug head twitch, loudness, and just the energy she put off was making me a nervous wreck. She got mad and started to cry, which made me feel like a total asshole, as I should have. We took the stuff to her car, I hugged her again and she left.

I don’t know if she was still crying, I couldn’t look at her. All I know is that I did what I had to do and those papers are finally signed. That is one less burden off my family. And in a small way, I did something good for her, I think. I just hope that she knows she is loved, no matter her faults, because really, as family, isn’t that what we are supposed to do ?

Tomorrow after school, I’m gonna go by and get her a $5 pizza and a Mountain Dew. And tell her I love her.

What else can I do?

It’s still almost impossible for me to believe that my father has been dead two years as of today. So close to Christmas, when the excitement flows and I finally seem to be almost settled into my new normal as a widow and a fatherless child. I realized earlier today that I’ve never actually gathered up the courage to write about that horrific day here. But I did write about it here.

I often catch myself thinking he’s off in Texas or some far off locale designing another oil rig. But he’s not. He’s dead and gone and the urn that holds his ashes is buried in a field that the rain pours down upon this morning. And knowing that he is really not here is the worst of it all.

I love you Daddy, and every day I miss you.