Things My Father Said

It was eight years ago today that my dad passed.

I guess I’m not really certain if I’ve done things the right way since he died.  I mean, how do you know if you’re giving someone the right amount of thought.  Should I think of him more?  Or is the amount of time I reflect on him and what he meant to me enough?

I won’t ever forget the day when my mom told me.  It’s something you don’t expect to hear after a long day of grading labs or papers – that your father in his mid-fifties passed away early that morning.  How can a person even react to that?

People to this day still say “I’m sorry” when they hear about it.  There’s no need to feel sorry.  I’ve come to grips with his death.  But I know it’s hard to pick something else to say.

My dad and I didn’t always have the best relationship, but he was my father and I loved him no matter what he did…just as he’d have done the same for me.

There’s so many things that I could have said…perhaps even wished I’d said.

But for now, I’ll leave it at this.

Dad, I love you.  I miss you.


Sweet Child Of Mine

I think at age 32 (well, I will be next Wednesday anyway), that I’ve finally figured out this woman thing.  I finally have the hang of being a chick.  I still don’t get it right all the time, but for the most part, I’m successful at the whole “I’m a girl” kind of thing.      

I’m also fairly certain that I wouldn’t have done well in those “good ‘ol” days where women were expected to stay home and be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.  So let me address each point in that statement…1) as a diabetic, it’s recommended that I don’t go barefoot, so strike one; 2) okay, okay…I’m not horrible in the kitchen, but let’s face it…Ian tends to be a much better cook than I – strike two!; and 3) I don’t think I’d make a very good mother.  Strike three!  I’m out!      

Probably not something you'd see me doing


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