That’s what my dad used to tell me, anyway.

I’m going to spend today with my mom in Biloxi, and then she and I and some other family member’s are going to one of my parent’s favorite places, Mary Mahoney’s . We’ll toast my parents, miss my father and just be there, in one of their favorite places.

It’s hard to celebrate love when one of the ones you love is gone, but he taught us well, and we won’t let him down.

Love you Mom and Dad. Always.

P.S. – Apparently my comments are broken, but I’m trying to get them fixed!

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.

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 …….

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.

Inside was a letter from a childhood friend of my father’s. I won’t put her name here in order to respect her privacy, but I will put the text of her letter here, and I think that explains it all…..

February 23, 2010

To her I say thank you, your letter means so very much to me and I am sure to my mother as well. It invoked memories of the town my father and I were both lucky enough to call home, and cemented another precious memory of him in my mind and heart. The pin that you included was shared by my father and grandfather, and will now be mine, and I will treasure it forever. There are no words to express what your simple act of a kindness has meant to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

His journey with cancer started off as a misdiagnosis of ACID REFLUX ! Way to go Doc. Last summer he had trouble swallowing and would often get what we call the “vurps” and wasn’t feeling too great. The doctor told him to keep taking his Prilosec. Yea. Good call. He then went in for a stress test and numbers were elevated or something so they said HEART ATTACK …and sent him in an ambulance to the local hospital (which doubles as a building full of no useful info whatsoever). Wherein this building they did no MRI / Cat Scan , nothing but an EKG, and OH MY !! No signs of cardiac arrest.

Gregory and I finally talked him into going to see a different doctor, and that’s when they found the esophageal cancer. Stage 3. Invasive. 8 to 18 months with chemo. Today marks a year since I heard those words from my mother, standing in a parking lot where they had come by work to tell me what they didn’t want to tell me over the phone. One year since my father’s eyes hid behind the same brand of sunglasses that we have both had on while we held each other silently, each one of us fighting off the tears harder than the other. So alike, he and I. I am my father’s daughter. One year and my daddy is still alive. Alive, but not well.

I can see where the cancer has taken it’s toll. He has lost and gained weight, he has lost hair. He tires easily. I usually find him in his recliner, either reading or sleeping. A week or so ago I went down to do the fall hedge trimming and other assorted chores that Gregory and I would always help him do. Except this year I did it all myself. My mom helped by doing some raking, but she’s almost 68 years old and can only do so much herself before tiring. She told me after about 30 minutes of work that my dad was inside crying because he couldn’t help his daughter. I don’t think I could have pierced my heart with the gas hedge trimmer I was wielding and made it hurt more than knowing that my daddy was crying. I managed to cover up my sobs with the whine of the trimmer and soaked up the tears on my gloves.

Mom, there’s some things I don’t need to know.

When I found out my dad had cancer, I was stunned. I left work early and went straight home to Gregory , who I told face to face and then we held each other and cried for just a minute until he said “Pops is strong, he will beat this and we have to be strong for him.” He was devastated. He loved my dad and felt closer to him than he did his own, who was abusive to him in so many ways. He once told my dad that he never had a father, and asked him to be the one he never had. Sure, they didn’t always get along, I mean really?? What daddy get’s on with his #1 girl’s man 100% of the time? But oh how G loved my daddy, and I was so happy that finally the two men in my life were on the same page.

I did some grieving of my own, but I try to put on a brave happy face when I am around my dad. I go to his doctor’s appointments, but sometimes he wants me to leave the room when the doctor comes in to talk to us. I understand, he just wants to protect his baby.

So I kept moving through life, working, taking care of my husband and stepson, helping my parents with things that needed doing, and talking to my mom and dad 2-3 times a day and googling and web-md’ing what I could find about esophageal cancer.

And then my Gregory died.

And the little part of my life that the cancer grief had wedged itself into exploded. Then imploded.

I am grieving the death of my husband. My husband was a recovering / non-recovering alcoholic. The contents of a bottle of vodka were too strong for him to resist. A little fall , a black eye , him walking around laughing and goofing with me as usual? That turned into a slow bleed that killed him after he was fine for several days. The doctors call it “talk and die” syndrome. His liver was so messed up his blood wouldn’t clot. Type 2 diabetes didn’t help. So he died. And part of me went with him and I will never, ever be the same.

I am grieving the impending death of my father. There is no cure. There is no hope. The man smoked for 50 years. He got cancer. The cigarettes that he loved are coming back in the form of cancerous cells that are killing him. And I am scared to death to lose my daddy.

But I think I’m scared for me too. I’m scared that I have poured so much of myself into grieving for Gregory that I haven’t given myself the time or space to deal with the fact that my daddy is going to die.

And then it’s just me and my mom. And what is she gonna do? That’s gonna leave me as the strong one. The one who handles things. The one.

I don’t want to be the one.

I want to be Kim.

I want my husband.

I want my daddy.

I want my life back.

I haven’t done anything wrong.

I thought cruel and unusual punishment was against our constitution.

I thought double jeopardy wasn’t allowed.

I want my pardon.

I want my happy ending.