I Miss You.

I keep seeing blue ford f-150s driving around town, and I keep thinking to myself, "hey, Daddy's back. He's come to hang out, have dinner, and visit."

But then it hits me. And then it hurts. So very, very much. I'd trade twenty years off my life just to have him back for twenty more. Or I'd give anything just to start over from this point again.

Anything. Just to have this again.  As weird and wacky and crazy as we were. 

There is a hole in my heart, and not even God and can fill it right now. 

A Strange Thing Happened.

A strange thing happened.

Someone at the funeral told me that there would be a sign that my dad was ok. I didn't really believe them. I thought it was more worn out platitudes. Granted, I thought he might do a short stint in purgatory due to the fact that he never went to church, but he lived the gospel every day of his life.

But, I haven't posted this information here, so let me begin by saying, for the past two months, my previous landlord has pursued a lawsuit against me and my roommate in small claims court.  I talked about it at length with my Dad, and he said she was just bullying us because we were young, she didn't like us, and it was personal. (She didn't need the money at all). He never thought I should pay her a dime and that I should stand my ground.

I had just said to a co-worker after my car breaking down, after my Dad dying, "I'm going to get home this afternoon, and she's going to have sent us an e-mail saying she won, and I owe her money."

There was an e-mail that night.

All it said was that she was dropping the lawsuit.

Holy. Cow.

I think that was my Dad. I think he fixed that for me because he still loves me and is watching over me.
And if that's the case, he's not in purgatory, but in Heaven if it was him. (Heaven!) I don't know anything for sure, but I really feel like that was him helping me out.

HEAVEN! I can't be certain, but I feel it in my gut, and I feel a lot better about him being gone now.

When It Rains, It Pours.

I'm sitting here staring at a text message on my phone that I have apprehensions about sending.

I need to break down. And I need someone who understands that, who knows how I am when I cry, who knows why I need someone different to break down with than my family.

My car broke down today, and I called my mother crying because this is something my Daddy could have fixed and would have fixed. Now, neither she nor I know what to do, and I barely made it to work. But she refused to talk to me while I was crying stating, "she couldn't handle it and wasn't going to handle it." She actually made me hang up, stop crying, and call her back. Moreover, she said since she couldn't handle me crying she wants to force me back onto medication and wants me to stay barred out all the time (that's Xanax) which I refuse to do because I want to be sad for my Dad.

Later, I called to tell her I made it home ok, and she started talking for some crazy reason about my brother's girlfriend, which I didn't want to hear about. Earlier in the week, she said she would give me some of my Dad's life insurance money to use to put a down payment on a car; now she says fix it on your own or call your oldest brother.

The thing she doesn't realize is that you can't depend on him. He's highly immature and irresponsible and never answers his phone when I call, and my baby brother is just nineteen and too far away. He can't fix this either. 

The other night, Heathcliff called and talked to me for the first time since we broke up. He said he was sorry, about everything. And told me that if I needed anything, call him. He sounded remorseful. He said, "I know you probably don't want to talk to me or my ear is not appreciated or welcome, but I do want to offer it if you need it."

So I'm sitting here looking at this blinking cursor. Wondering if I should press send or not.

I know what my heart wants, but I also know what my head thinks. I wish I knew the right thing to do.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

The hardest thing I've ever done is lay my Daddy to rest.

It was harder than becoming Catholic.
Harder than breaking off an engagement.
Harder than my Nana's death.

I never realized how close we actually were, but that's not to say I took my Daddy for granted. I loved every minute I had with him, and death was continually at the forefront of his mind since I was a little girl. Back then, I just thought he was overly sentimental when he used to tell me "You're driving my most precious cargo to school. You obey the speed limits and do right driving." Of course I rolled my eyes, but I knew he meant it.

I'm lucky that I can say I knew my Daddy, that he was there for me. He fed me every night at 2 am while playing Super Mario on the NES in the 80s. He tried to teach me how to ride a bike. He took me hunting. We flew kites every May. We fished together every spring. He bought me sno cones and ice cream in summer. He taught me how to spit out of the truck like a boy. He scared boys off when I got older. He was patient with me in learning how to do Algebra and made me practice an extra hour every night because he knew I was weak in my math skills. He always helped me do my homework. He got me jobs during the summer so I could work to pay for my college. He pushed me to do my best and graduate and not be boy crazy. If I hurt myself, I called him, and he could fix it, or if not, he would give me the money to go to the emergency room. He would give me 100$ almost every time I saw him just for doing good in life. I called him about taxes. About moving. About shower heads and broken down cars. About jobs and careers. He was my rock. My guide. When life was wrong, I went home to Daddy because he fixed it.

He was my first and best man in my life. The only boy I ever wanted to white knight things for me. He was my first superhero, and the first guy I loved.

I can remember being six or seven, and riding in that old grey truck listening to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. He would look over and tell me, "Now, when it's my time to go, and it will come, I want you to play this song. And I don't want nobody crying and sobbing and all that mess. It's not a funeral. It's a homegoing because I'll be going to the good Lord. So I want ya'll to be happy. And I want you to play this song and Elton John's Funeral for a Friend and dance on my grave." And of course, I'm sure I was a bit bleary eyed, so he would always say, "But that ain't for a while." He told me that most of my life. In fact, we had just had the conversation again back when my Nana died in January. When my mother left the room, he looked at me and said, "I mean it. And I know that you'll be the only one in the family to make sure it happens." I promised him I would.

And so I did. After everyone had left. After the grave was dug. After the casket was put in the Earth and covered up. I got my phone out and played those two songs, and I danced on his grave just like he had always wanted. 

I just keep wishing I understood God's timing.

The only thing, the entire weekend, anyone said to me that has made me feel a little bit better is this: "Your Daddy is not gone dear. He is just in a different part of your life. He will watch over you and take care of you now, and I promise you, there going to be time you feel like he is in the room with you, and Baby, he is. He won't leave you. He loved you too much for that and knows you need him."

And I thought about it. If I believe in the communion of saints like I say I really do, at some point, Daddy will be in Heaven. And Daddy can help me. I can pray to him. I can still talk to him. I can still ask him to help me, to guide me. He may not be able to fix the sink anymore, but I can ask him to send someone my way who can, be it a plumber or my future husband. That is the only thing I have found comfort in so far.

Still, I wish Daddy had been 82 instead of 52.

My Daddy Died Today.

I. can't. stop. crying.

WHY? I mean, I understand all the theological reasons and all that, but right now, they are unsatisfactory answers. WHY my dad? WHY this age?  WHY when he got regular checkups and the doctor told him he was okay? WHY so soon after my grandmother? WHY WHY WHY?

It feels like God is just picking on the Doherty family. What else can be thrown our way? And I know it's not Him per se, but the effects of sin, but I want to hold someone responsible. I guess I should be pointing fingers at the Devil, but I know God has more power, so why didn't he step in and do something because my father was only 52. He was too young. I'm too young. He'll never walk me down the aisle. He'll never meet his grandchildren.

For as wack as my family is, we at least retained the traditional nuclear family structure. My Daddy was the head, followed by my mom, me, and on down the line. Now I understand why God says be kind to widows. Granted we are all grown, but we are still children. We've barely even scratched the beginning of our lives, and now, we have to take care of our mother. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating that being in this situation gives me a new appreciation for those verses. 

Remember how I said 27/2012 was looking to better than 26/2011? Yeah, right. This year can suck it. 

Feel free to give me a spiritual pep talk. I'm not going to get it anywhere else.