My Dad

has a birthday today. 
Yes, indeed. It is his 88th birthday. I wonder how Daddy would be, if he still walked this earth. My guess Dad would still charm the ladies, as he did the nurses during his hospital stays. The nurses would tell me how Dad would just talk and talk about me.
The picture here, during my spandex legging stage, with black Reeboks tennis shoes, was snapped sometime in the early 90's. Before diabetes grabbed hold of Dad and wrestled him down one too many times. Before the one time Dad's eye sight was  robbed and his heart could no longer keep pace. 
Just before.
 Daddy was my heart, and I was his life--his 'prettiest girl' he'd say.
My eyes water as I miss our times on that stoop, and Dad's cigar smoke tickles my nose.  When I'd come back to Dallas, after am Iowa trip home and open my suitcase, all my clean clothes (which Dad usually folded!) smelled of his King Edward cigar. And  I would smile. 
To remember and savor that scent--one more time--just to know Daddy was near-
Makes me smile. .

October 18, 2001 was Thursday

....and the day my dad died.

I can't believe Sweet Big Daddy Don has been gone almost a decade. Seems like forever, yet then seems like yesterday I got "the call" that afternoon. Just an awful day at my job. I so wanted to quit. I'd even gone home for lunch, since I lived close. I thought about calling my dad just to hear his voice. Yet, I thought I just bothered him so much about my work troubles.

Little did I know it would have been my last call to him. Dad was in a nursing home/rehab because of his blindness in July. He was learning to take care of himself even tho he couldn't see. It really wasn't going as well as they'd hoped.

My dad was so use to doing everything on his own. Now he couldn't see and had to so depend on others. It was sad. I still had him pictured walking down the street, Iowa Hawkeye jacket on with a King Edward cigar dangling from his mouth.

So on that Thursday, I think my dad just had enough. I know he never wanted to leave me--after all, I was his 'prettiest girl'--plus, he missed my mom and tired of waiting. Dad went to sleep and just didn't wake up. Just the way he wanted.

For me today, it's all bittersweet. How much my life has changed since his death and what has remained the same. I still hear Dad's laugh and times I think I smell the cigar smoke...

Especially when I look at his Iowa Hawkeye jacket that hangs in the closet.

February 24, 2006 was Friday

And I had the day, in 2006, off. Took a couple days because I hadn't been feeling well. The boss suggested since I had left over vacation days from the prior year--heck why not take em? I liked my boss so I did. Good thing.

I really didn't feel so hot. Occasional headaches. Joints and muscles ached. Cold nights sweet had me drenched by morning. What I read I figured menopause symptoms or diabetes. I knew all this would pass--eventually. My energy level was zilch and lie there in bed even tho I had plans for the day with Movie Man.

On the phone Movie Man urged me, quite firm, to get out of bed and meet him for lunch like we'd planned and go to the movies to see "Something New." During our Olive Garden lunch, I didn't eat as much, and during the movie I had the chills. I loved being with Movie Man, yet I just wanted my couch--not feeling it. I do remember he tried to make me laugh. And I hope Movie Man forgives me, because I can't remember if we did anything after the movie.

I just wanted to rest. To have whatever that kept me down, would just walk on out of my bod and I get on to feeling better.

Stay tuned.

On this day, in 2010, my chum Maria, who was/is my racquetball partner asked if I was interested in still playing? We both perked up! We've not played r-ball in forever and I'm glad we're working on it! And I went to my work's computer room, after my shift, to print my school assignments and such. It hit me that I'm a student. Got home fed the birds, pet the cats, realized I gotta wash the gray out of my hair --again--, continue to research how to ship frozen pies to future customers in my soon to start pie business, plus set the time to write/work on my novella that I want the draft done by my birthday. OK, then to watch me some American Idol, after I check the guide to watch "Something New" again--because now I know I liked it.

Yes, I am blessed.

October 18, 2001 was Thursday

And the day Dad died. Seems just like yesterday, while other days it does seem like years ago. I miss my dad. Alot. When I'd say stuff like that Dad would say "You're just a big ol' baby." And I would respond, "Yes, I am. YOURS." If back in my hometown, a hug would follow.

Also, yesterday, while I watched the Iowa Hawkeyes beat the Wisconsin Badgers, I swear I smelled the smoke from Dad's King Edward cigar in the room. Even now I smile as our matching Iowa Hawkeye jackets still hang, side by side, in my closet.

On this day, in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke how our storms are like lemonade. We journey through the bitter to get to the sweet. That's how I view Dad's death. I realized how he suffered. The diabetes dictated an amputation below the knee on one leg in 1997. The beginning of the end. During Dad's rehab, a clot formed behind his eye and his sight was quite not the same. Dad could see, yet for him it wasn't good enough. I saw his confidence sink. In July 2001, Dad went blind and doctors said no hope for sight to be regained. Dad was moved to a nursing home in our home town to start rehab, so he may one day go home and fend for himself. Then on October 18, 2001, Dad went to sleep for the final time. I always believed Dad knew. He'd had enough. In fact, the staff, went to wake him for a doctor's appointment and he was gone.

Dad's death was/is bitter to me. I became an adult orphan that day. The sweet side is Dad joined my mom in heaven. In fact, his funeral wound up being their 47th wedding anniversary. I mentioned it in my eulogy to him. Also, Dad need not suffer anymore and can sit on any cloud with my mom--just as it should be. With a death, something begins to live--and that was something sweet I've had to adjust to. I know Dad didn't want to leave me, yet he knew I had to start living. He'd had enough.

When Dad passed, his sight regained and could see as far as his eyes could see. My daddy watches over me every single day. And there are those times the King Edwards cigar smoke tickles my nose.

I am blessed.

In 1996 December 22 was Sunday

Tomorrow is trash day. I hauled the stuff to the curb. This is one of those "I wish a man was close by" moments. Oh well, to today's entry:

Back in 1996, it was Dad's job to put the trash out by the curb. He would do it too, except during these late year moments, his health began to shift. It was a month before the amputation of his left leg, just below his knee. Diabetes. Dad wasn't feeling the best either, yet still had that forever cigar in his mouth. Plus his pride and joy---nope, not me--but the dog, Mr. Bojangles, was near by. Whenever I came home, that hound and I walked a million miles around town. Yep, even at Christmas time. The picture is from that Christmas.

Took a looksee in my 1996 diary. Just to see what else happened then. Just had to smile, because I thought I was SO in love! Indeedy. In fact, it was a classmate, I had a big ol crush on during junior high and some high school. Let's call him, Chi-town. He didn't have a clue until I told him at our 20th reunion. Which by the way, had a been a few months earlier, in July of 1996. OK--I gotta smile again.

My diary says, Chi-town had spent time with friends and family this December 22, evening and I'd watched the Cowboys lose to the Redskins, alas they were all ready in the playoffs and hadn't played the starters. I digress. Then Chi-town called me when all his company had left. Did I want to get some hot chocolate and go for a ride, he asked? Our rides usually consisted of going out to one end of our hometown, park the car at the Motel 8, and talk while we watched cars zip past on the highway. WOW-we both lived in big cities, and this is what we did. Anyway, I refused Chi-town's offer just because we had a date for the next day. This date which included a trip to to Des Moines, during a blizzard, with the windchill to single digits and a trip to an indoor ice rink. Chi-town tried to teach me how to ice skate. After some 6 yr old kid kept passing me, I gave up my dream of being Olympic gold medalist, Kristi Yamaguchi. Hmm. We took in dinner, movie and drove back home. The blizzard had eased, yet cold. Bitter cold. Kinda like my family and chums experience right now.

But ya know, it didn't matter back then. I was with Chi-town. He's the only man I ever looked at bridal magazines for. Told you, I thought was SO in love. And I was home. Right where I wanted to be.

Well, whatta ya know! Turns out I have a picture of me and Chi-town ,from the top of the Sears Tower, between pages of this 1996 diary. We look jovial. Gotta smile again. And I know you're wondering: what happened?

Well, that's another post.

This Day....

October 18 in 2001, was a Thursday. That’s the day Dad died. His death was the rotten cherry on an already soggy cake of a day. The call from the nursing home came at 3 pm. Due to some work departmental thing, I was involved in, didn’t hear my voice mails until 3:30. When the calling number was recited, I knew. I rarely received Iowa calls during work days. I knew. The ironic thing was, the nursing home went to rouse him for a doctor’s appointment, because he hadn't felt well. But Dad beat them to the punch: he made an appointment to go Home and went the way he wanted: in his sleep

Diabetes, a vile culprit, caused a foot to be amputated in January 1997. Unfortunately, during Dad’s rehab, his vision worsened. I always believed that contributed to lack of self-confidence. The robust man I knew, began to physically weaken. Never saw Dad again without the use of a cane, even tho the doctor gave him a great prognosis with his prosthetic foot. Dad never grasped that.

Diabetes robbed his entire sight in July 2001. It would never return. Dad’s dark brown eyes were now outlined with thin ring of blue. I joked with Dad, how at 77, he finally got blue eyes. Dad was fitted with a pacemaker, and then transported to a local nursing home for rehab. So he could learn to live without his eyes, and eventually go home. That didn’t happen.

Eventho there were folks Dad had grown up with or worked with, at the nursing home, it still wasn’t home. Still not his chair, the ‘clicker’ for the TV or his dog, Peaches, a chubby little Chihuahua who kept guard. It just wasn’t home. After I was told Dad’s rehab wasn’t going as well as expected, I asked him how he’d feel if he had to stay longer.

My father’s response: “Oh, baby, I would die.”