Remembering...

I have friend who've lost a parent in the recent years.  I offer condolences ask how I can help... as they deal with their loss I tell them "I've been there, it gets easier." 

I fail to tell them that I'm still waiting for that to happen.  You see I still miss Pops. 

I sleep in his room, now redecorated with my furniture, I have pictures of him all over my dresser, and a million times a day I think of something that he'd find amusing... or a political opinion of mine he'd love to fight about.

He'd love my Bella and think Molly was silly.  He'd laugh when I told him I was going Vegan and he'd love to have a beer when I get off of work.

Most of the time I can think of things like this... pause for a minute and move on. 

It gets harder this time of year... holidays... family... remembering that night 11 years ago.  It throws that ache back into my chest and brings tears back to my eyes.

I think of my husband he'll never know, the kids he'll never meet... the aisle he'll never walk me down.  And when I'm feeling especially sad I'll have a mini sob fest and get it out of my system. 

But I never stop missing him.  I think I'd worry more if I did. Instead I live on, missing and honoring him in my own little ways.

With my cowboy boots and Conway Twitty songs... my sailor mouth... and everything I do. 

So today... in honor of my Pops I'll be popping open a beer, with his favorite girl Mems when I get off work... and listening to some George Jones.

Love you Pops.

For last year's very special blog click here.

A different kind of blog...

Ten years ago my Pops heart gave out, after years of wrapping our large and dysfunctional family in it.

His death changed all of us, some for better, some for worse. It made me more cynical, but it made me and Mems closer. It forced my ever irresponsible mother to grow up just a little.

Last night after I had crying fit brought on by this "anniversary" Mems wondered aloud, how I might have been different if he'd lived longer. It was inevitable that he would not live forever, or even much longer than he did because of a heart defect and lung damage from fighting fires long before the use of safety gear.

Would I have been different if I had more years with my Pops? Or is the mark he made on me in 17 years enough to last my life time?

It is because of him after all that I curse like a sailor. I learned some of my most colorful phrases playing in the front yard while he worked in the open garage. "Go fuck a duck" remains my favorite.

He introduced me to the wonder that is peanut butter. Sure I'd had the classic PB & J before... but once he rubbed peanut butter on a stack of vanilla wafers, I was in heaven. He made the first Chinese food I ever ate, showed me how to fry shrimp and green tomatoes.

The first time I went in the ocean I was holding his hand... I was scared of the water and made him promise not to let go. Then a wave hit us and knocked me down and he let go.

I went under the salty water and popped up instantly. Anger burning in my 6-year old body as I yelled at him "You let go! A shark almost ate me!" Yes I've always been melodramatic. But he just laughed and said nothing happened, you went under water and you're fine. And I was, and I was never scared of the ocean again.

When I'm drinking a beer I feel the need to listen to Merle Haggard because I grew up hearing it play on the tape deck above our refrigerator while Mems and Pops drank a beer before dinner.

In these little ways Pops helped form the habits I still carry with me, in larger ways he influenced everything I do and everything I'll ever become.

His unconditional love gave me the comfort and courage to say and do whatever I choose, and even now that he's gone I have a part of him I know I'm better because of him and hope I'm still making him proud, even with my cursing.