Archive for the ‘daddy’ Category

A storm brews in my soul.

A storm that has raged inside of me for the last sixteen months, actually longer than that.

The waves began to churn and the horizon darkened when I found out my daddy had cancer.

The thunder rumbled as he began chemo, radiation, pills of all kinds, an endless parade of doctor’s.

Drops began to fall as quickly as the hairs fell from his head and the pounds dropped from his larger than life frame.

The rain blinded me and lightning struck when Gregory died, leaving me unable to see the shore.

The fog settled on me, pushing me down with it’s cold weight and blurring my sight of the life inside me that I thought surely was gone.

I sloshed along the shores of my grief and anger, often walking in circles again and again, looking for the sun, the moon, the light of anything good.

I began to see flashes along the horizon.

I felt the caress from a slight breeze of hope, a calm healing trade wind.

I began to feel the warmth of the sun, the goodnight kiss of the moon, the stars smiling on me.

I see the moon, and the moon sees me I would tell Gregory in my dreams.

Then the winds changed.

The clouds covered the moon, the sun, the stars.

The whitecaps returned.

The thunder grumbled across my mind like a hungry beast, it’s lightning flashing warnings in my brain.

Then the darkness came and took my father.

And the rain began again.

Slowly, but steady.

And it comes.

And it goes.

Like the waves, it comes crashing in and pulls back out, taunting my mind, my heart , my soul.

The storm brews in my soul still.

I will not drown.

I will not let it take me under.

Last year at this time I would rather have spent 48 hours watching Twilight and listening to Miley Cyrus than to go to the lake and put on a happy face in front of the family and friends that congregate there for the Fourth. (run on sentence much?)

This year, I’m actually looking forward to it. Going to the lake, not the other part.

Like I said yesterday, roller coaster emotions. Last year I was clothed in the black veil of meh over G’s death, and though I took every chance I could to spend time with my daddy, I knew each time was once closer to the last. I think that while the agonizing wait for death propelled me to be with him it also somewhat pushed me away, because I couldn’t stand to see him suffer. It’s odd how things come full circle because he reacted the same way when my Granny was being taken away from us by dementia. This year I have to be strong not only for me, but for my mother. It will be another milestone for her without my dad. The Fourth is a big deal around our house, and anytime you live on the main drag of a huge lake, it should be. We’ll have a bit of the work taken off by my awesome cousins who are also hosting a shin-dig at their place, letting my mom relax and just enjoy time with the family. When we aren’t there she and I will cook, entertain family and friends, lay in the pool and take boat rides. We’ll smile and wave at the folks we know as they go by in the various boat parades. And I hope we’ll make more happy memories.

I’ve decided as such that I am Declaring My Independence from Dr. Lecter and any and all Grief Monsters that may try and impede on my celebration of good times and noodle salad.

Begone annoying grief bugs, no room for you in my life the next few days. I shall swat you with my electronic bug zapper and shoo you away with blasts from my always half full cup of whatever the hell I feel like drinking. I will try and be successful in having a good time and make that happen, snot filled sobs of grief and despair be damned. You may ambush me on another day, another time, but not in the next four. I refuse to give in to you. I must protect mah house. (that’s an Under Armour reference for you non-sporty folk)

And don’t go bothering anyone else either. Why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier? Stick a bottle rocket in your tailpipe and light ‘er up. Whatever you do, leave me alone. And my friends and family too.

We have memories to look back on, and more to make …….

Oilfield Trash.

It’s a nickname for those that work in the oil business. It’s been around since I was a kid, and I’ve never heard it used in anger or to put down someone. For many in Louisiana, Texas and Mississippi, being called that is an honor. Some of the finest people I have ever known wore that moniker proudly.

Eleven people are still missing and presumed dead after a rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexico earlier this week.

Please take a minute and keep them, their families and friends in your thoughts, your prayers, and your way of communicating with your higher power.

Oilfield Trash keeps this country moving.

Oilfield Trash makes it possible for you to go on vacation, to the grocery store, to take your kids to the ball field.

No matter your opinion on offshore drilling, the environment, the politics of oil or politics in general, it all boils down to the working man (and woman).

If you know someone who can wear the title of Oilfield Trash, hug their neck and thank them. They deserve it.