Contemplating Christmas

There’s only a little over two hours left until Christmas and I’ve been contemplating how I’ll be spending it. I had great hopes of being with my sister tomorrow, but I don’t know how that’s going to work out.

She’s just not in the “Christmas Spirit” since Daddy died and I can understand that. To be honest, my Christmas Spirit has been lacking today.

Right now, I do see a little more brightness for tomorrow. Earlier, my friends Calvin and Sherri invited me to spend Christmas with them. At first, I rejected the thought. I would feel really uncomfortable intruding on their family tradition. But the alternative is spending it alone and I like that even less.

Since Calvin cares enough to invite me, that’s where I’ll be. Unless… Hopefully my sister will change her mind. I know Mother and Daddy wouldn't want us to be alone.

Still Struggling With Worry Over Daddy's Death

In my December 12th post "The Consequences Of Not Properly Coping With My Anger", I mentioned that my therapist Kara had pointed out that my dad didn't have control over his death and I had begun to realize that I had no reason to be mad at him.

While I was writing that, another thought occurred to me and I've still been thinking about it. I've heard about people dying just because they give up on living for one reason or another. Daddy had suffered from chronic back pain for years and it seemed, especially closer to the end of his life, not much was helping it. Did Daddy die because he was tired of living with his pain?

According to one website "Depression may play a part in premature death due to other causes, such as heart disease." Certainly Daddy's back pain caused him to be depressed a lot. That, coupled with his diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder would really aggravate his problems.

Daddy definitely worried a lot about other things. He continually worried about having enough money despite the fact the nursing home was taking care of all his needs. I keep thinking about what I said earlier about getting mad at him. I did give him a lot of grief. Maybe he never really got over that. Another log added to the fire of worry.

Does it really make sense that Daddy died because he just gave up? The coroner said he had hardening of the arteries around his intestines that caused his death. How could he have control over that? Could depression have played some part in that?

Now that I've thought of this, the O.C.D is going to gnaw at me. Yeah, I know someone would tell me " Try not to worry - there's nothing you can do to change the situation." Hearing that never helps. It just makes me angry and adds more worry.

Those Illogical Human Emotions

According to Vulcan philosophy, emotions can't be explained by logic ~ memory-alpha.org

I’ve been a fan of Star Trek since my teen years. Recently I was watching the move “Star Trek: Generations”, the one where Captain Picard seeks the help of a supposedly dead Captain Kirk to stop Dr. Soran from destroying a star system so he can enter the Nexus, a mysterious energy ribbon.

One of the storylines takes up where the series left off about Lt. Commander Data's endeavor to become more human. As usual, when Data makes an attempt to tell a joke, nobody except him finds it funny. So, when Dr. Crusher encourages Data to get into the spirit of things at the celebration for Worf's promotion, he shoves her into the ocean. When no one is amused, especially Dr. Crusher, Data decides it's time to give his emotion chip a try.

Much to his delight, Data can experience genuine emotions. However, it's not long before things go terribly wrong because he is unable to control them. On a mission with his best friend Geordi La Forge they come under attack and the once rational and logical Data is curled up in a corner whimpering in fear.

Later, back aboard the Enterprise, Data begs Picard to deactivate him until the chip can be removed. Picard refuses, telling Data that learning to control emotions is part of being human.

Despite the fact of what Spock often said of his race the Vulcans, they do have emotions. In one episode of Star Trek: Voyager, Tuvok explains that Vulcans' natural emotions are "erratic and volatile"; if Vulcans do not strongly repress emotions, they can get violently angry in an instant.

Learning to control and deal with emotions is a lesson I keep having problems with. Many times I've wished that I could just deactivate my emotions and not feel anything. At times I have really envied Mr. Spock and Data, but emotions are part of what makes us human and as Picard told Data, we have to learn to live with and control them.

If a person was truly unemotional, how could he relate to anyone? How could he care about anything? Where would be the joy of falling in love? The delight in seeing a baby's smile? How could we find pleasure in watching children grow up? How could we even care about them?

As Captain Kirk said in Star Trek V, "Damn it, Bones, you're a doctor. You know that pain and guilt can't be taken away with a wave of a magic wand. They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves! I don't want my pain taken away! I need my pain!!"

Thanks Captain Kirk for that lesson in those illogical human emotions!

Different Relationships; Different Emotions And Thoughts

I have cried an untold of amount of tears over the loss of my mother. Just the other day I was downloading some of her favorite Southern Gospel music and a flood of emotions washed over me. I haven’t cried like that for her in quite some time.

As I was experiencing these strong feelings for her, I noticed something else. It seemed like I was grieving more for Mother than I was for Daddy. It just felt different. Last night, I began thinking again about the differences in the relationships that I had with each one.

Mother was passive, tender, sensitive and a worrier. Daddy was aggressive, domineering and sensitive in a way that was different from Mother. What I mean is, is if someone done or said something he didn’t like, he would want to get back at them. At least he was like this earlier in life when Mother was still living. Actually, Daddy would go through phases. Sometimes he was like this and sometimes not. Even living in the nursing home he would have these spells.

As I’ve mentioned before, Daddy suffered from Bipolar Disorder. But does that give a person an excuse to physically and verbally abuse people? Well, maybe an excuse but not a right. Should I look at it like there were times in his life when he couldn’t help it? Such as when we were children?

My sister and I looked at this differently. At least for a while. I seen it as something that I deserved, but later I began to think about it in a different way.

Apparently, later in life, Daddy didn’t think we deserved it either. He cried a lot over it and asked our forgiveness. I said I forgave him, but deep down I don’t think I did. I know at least one time I just spoke the words without any meaning. They just seemed the right thing to say given the frame of mind he was in. Now that he’s gone, sometimes it seems like it’s easier to forgive him. It would be better if I could forgive him now. It would help me cope with and heal from the grief.

To me, that seems selfish. Just wanting to forgive Daddy for my benefit. As I write this, I’m struggling with my emotions and thoughts.

I don’t even know if I truly loved my parents. At the end of every visit to their house, I would hug Mother bye and kiss her. She would always say, “I love you.” I would just turn away and walk out the door. I know this sounds like I was cold and perhaps I was, but telling Mother that I loved her would feel like a lie.

I believe “love” is more than an emotion. It’s more than just a “warm, fuzzy feeling” you have toward someone. As the country singer Clint Black says, “Love isn’t something that we are, it’s something that we do”. I believe when you love someone, you give part of yourself to that person. I’m not talking just about romantic love. I’m also talking about giving yourself to or doing things for your parents, siblings, friends or even complete strangers.
When I done things for my parents, it wasn’t out of love. It was more out of duty or because I felt I had to do it. A large part of the time when Mother would ask me to do something, I would raise h*ll about it. What grief I gave her!

Later, I did start tell Mother that I loved her. Once again, this was more out of duty. I began asking myself, “What if something happened to one of us and I didn’t tell Mother that I loved her?”

After Mother died, Daddy’s personality seemed to change somewhat. Especially after he went in the nursing home, there were times when he became passive and more dependent. More like Mother was. I would lose my temper with him. The only good thing that I can think of now is that somehow I learned to be more patient with him.

Right now, my heart cries out in opposition to what I done back then.

I know there are people, such as my mother, who would disagree with what I’ve said about not loving my parents. But this is just the way I personally see it.

Entangled In The Web Of Addiction

In an earlier post, I wrote about addictions being like a spider’s web. I want to add more along this line of thinking.

Spiders have more than one way to trap their prey, but the best method is their web. One of the functions of a web is to trap the prey by entangling it or sticking to it.

A few years ago I was bicycling down a country road when I noticed a spider’s web like the one pictured. As I rode, I thought about two things: The beauty and intricacy of it’s design & what I would’ve felt like if I had rode into it. I’ve gotten spider’s webs on me before and I know that time would’ve aggravated me, to say the least. I would’ve been swiping my face and every where else trying to get that sticky mess off me.

I can only imagine what a fly feels like to be trapped in a web and to see the spider approaching. Struggling frantically, to no avail, to free itself. For the fly, death is literally knocking at the door.

This is exactly what happens with addiction. An addict becomes entangled in its sticky web. Except in the early stages of addiction, the addict doesn’t struggle. He doesn’t want out of his addiction. As far as he is concerned, the addiction has too much to offer him. It gives him too much pleasure. In fact, because of denial, he doesn’t even realize that addiction has spun its sticky web. By the time the addiction has caused him enough pain to want out, it’s too late. The addict is trapped and the more he struggles, the harder it is to get out. For the addict death is literally knocking at the door.

Family and friends can try to persuade him to seek help, but until the addict makes the decision himself, he will continue being trapped.

I recall the first time that a nurse told me I was a binge drinker. I was infuriated at the thought! Binge drinking is what college students do and I was 40 years old. Besides, I didn’t have a drinking problem. Nope! Not me! What I was doing was completely normal.

Deep down inside though, I knew something wasn’t right. Why did I feel so guilty about going to the store to buy a bottle? Why was I worried about what the saleslady was thinking? But to hear someone openly tell me that I had a drinking problem was a whole different matter. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t accept it. I was in denial. Alcoholism already had me entangled in its sticky web and I certainly didn’t want any help getting out. Death was knocking at my door and I didn’t want any help escaping it.

During part of this time I was attending a mental health program for individual and group therapy. Part of this therapy was seeing an addiction counselor. Part of treatment included going to A.A. meetings.

I’ve heard it said in a lot of A.A. meetings that an alcoholic or addict has to hit rock bottom before they are willing to stop drinking or drugging and begin the climb up. For each person, the “bottom” is different. For some it can be when their family threatens to leave them. It could come when the doctor tells them they have a serious medical condition brought on by their drinking. Some lose their jobs before deciding to stop. Some may decide to stop when they are arrested for driving under the influence. And yet, for some, it takes a harder bottom than these for them to stop. Some people can lose everything and are still entangled in the web of addiction.

For me, my bottom came due to the intense guilt I was experiencing brought on by my drinking. Oh yes, it felt so good to be under the influence of alcohol, but the guilt was eating me alive. Finally and reluctantly, I gradually stopped drinking.

Eventually, I started going to meetings on my own, outside the treatment program. In particular, I started going to meetings that Calvin and Sherri have at their house. I begin to realize that the people there really cared about me. If I was willing to help myself, they would do what they could to help me. They eagerly gave me their phone numbers; telling me to call them any time day or night when I felt like drinking. Or if I had any other problem for that matter.

Little by little as I listened to these people talk and thinking about my own drinking habits, I began to accept that I just might have a problem. Notice that I said “might”. Denial still had me partially trapped in the web, although I wasn’t drinking. My O.C.D also added to my questioning my problem.

I continued going to meetings and I didn’t drink for over a year before I allowed the web of alcoholism to trap me again. But compared to my past drinking, it was short lived.

Notice that I said “allowed”. We drink and use drugs for one simple reason. We choose to. We can also choose to stop. The spider’s web can only hold us if we are willing to stay trapped. When we admit that we need help, then we are ready to take certain step to become untangled.

The Consequences Of Not Properly Coping With My Anger

I continue to have the feelings of anger that are related to my dad’s death that I mention in the December 4 post, but they don’t seem to be as strong as they have been. I haven’t thought about trashing my apartment lately. I realize that I’m continuing to avoid dealing with them properly, but I’m afraid of the intensity of my emotions that I fear will be released. I also realize that I can’t properly grieve and eventually begin to heal by avoiding it. Also, if this anger isn’t dealt with appropriately, it’s likely that I could really take it out on my sister or someone else close to me.

Yesterday, I talked to my therapist, Kara, about my feelings. She asked why I was mad at Daddy. I told her because he died without giving me a chance to say good-bye. Kara pointed out the fact that it wasn’t Daddy’s choice to die when he did; he had no control over it. I began to look at it in a different light. If only a little bit. My anger toward him lessened.

If it’s not Daddy’s fault, then whose is it? God’s? Should I blame God for allowing my daddy to die? Is it right or fair to blame Him? A synonym of blame is to “hold responsible”. God is, after all, responsible for giving us life and He can take it away. Still, in a way, it doesn’t seem right blaming God. Does He make mistakes? Is God cruel and unjust? Sometimes it seems like it, but yet I feel guilty about blaming him. As I consider this, there’s a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and I feel physically sick.

It has also occurred to me that some of the anger and blame could be directed toward the nursing home where Daddy lived for over four years. I believe some of the nurses there really cared about Daddy, but others I don’t know about. I kind of wonder about the nurses who were on duty that night, but it’s just my mind questioning things.

If there is one person at the nursing home that I would like to hold responsible for my dad’s death, that would be the administrator Mrs. R. I believe there is only one person she cares about and looks out for and that’s herself. Do I have hard feelings for this woman? You better believe it!

Daddy had bipolar disorder and as a result he had a lot of manic episodes while at the nursing home. During one particular period , I was having a very difficult time dealing with it. He was constantly paranoid, believing that many people were out to get them. He was constantly accusing the staff of stealing from him and plotting against him. He was also very grandiose; “I’m the king of the mountain. I’m absolutely right and everyone else is absolutely wrong!”

Yes, Daddy was extremely hard to be around during these times, but I expected someone like Mrs. R. to be a professional and try to help the family. But did she? H*ll no! She raised as much h*ll as Daddy did. She wanted him put out, threatened to have him arrested. She angrily told me that he couldn’t get along with anyone. She emphasized “anyone!” I discovered later that Mrs. R. didn’t know her staff very well. There was more than one nurse who told me they didn’t have any problem with Daddy. Undoubtedly, they had a more professional and caring heart about them than their administrator did.

After Daddy got better, but still sometimes accused the staff of stealing something, Mrs. R. would say “There he goes again!” According to her, there wasn’t anyone else in her nursing home that was as bad as Daddy.

Whenever I would go see her about something where the nursing home was at fault, she would always do one of two things. She would either just sit there and look at me or she would say “You’re free to take him somewhere else if you’re not happy with him being here.” Not one time did she every say the words “I’m sorry”. It was different with the assistant-administrator and the social worker. They seemed to at least have some compassion.

During the time that Daddy was experiencing his manic highs, I really wanted to go off on Mrs. R. and tell her exactly what I thought of her. Probably the only reason that I didn’t was because a close friend cautioned me about trying to get along with her for Daddy’s sake. Now that he’s gone, what’s stopping me? If that woman had went through the motions of expressing her so-called sympathy, that might have been my breaking point. I really would love to ask her why she would start showing concern now.

While sharing this post with you, I’ve begun to realize that I have more anger than I thought. While writing this, I wondered what good does all this anger do for me? Once again I need to remind myself that anger is a part of the grieving process and needs to be worked through in order to heal properly. Even without the grieving part, anger is still part of being human and needs to be properly dealt with.

When I begun writing this, the anger was like a spark within me. Now, it feels more like a fire beginning to blaze.

My Problems With Obsessions And Addictions

Sometimes I wonder about the differences between obsessions and addictions. Whether it's the one or the other, they can sometimes really drive me crazy. Take for instance this blog. My main purpose for it is to both express my thoughts and feelings on different things and share them with my readers. But I get so caught up in a multitude of other things such as adding widgets to it that I neglect the main purpose of having it to begin with.

I view obesssions and addictions like a spider's web. Once I get caught up in them, it's extremely hard for me to break loose. I can spend countless untold hours browsing the Internet and researching certain things that interest me at the moment. Once I get it in my head, I can't let it go.

Dealing With Anger And Grief

Sometimes when I’m sitting up late at night a feeling of anger overcomes me. Perhaps this feeling is best described as rage. One of the first things I think about is throwing something. Not something light, but something heavy like a book or a remote control. Then I think that’s not good enough. I want to just trash my apartment.

To begin with, I was giving credit to this to my staying up late. I do think it has some bearing on these feelings, but after last night I think there’s more to it.

I recently purchased a book titled “The Healing Journey Through Grief” by Phil Rich. Before going to bed the night before, I read the first few pages in it. When I started reading, I felt calm and relaxed. A short time later I was feeling like throwing the book against the wall. It was then that I started to realize my anger had something to do with Daddy’s death.

It had been several weeks since I had written in my personal journal. When I thought about writing in it concerning my feelings the night before, it didn’t seem like a pleasant task. To be honest, I was afraid of where it would lead. The feelings of anger continued to nag at me and I reluctantly picked my journal up and began to write.

Despite the title of the book, I decided that it didn’t feel very “healing”. I also wrote that I felt like a storm was brewing within me. The following is an excerpt of what I wrote:

“Who or what am I angry at? Putting my finger on everything seems a difficult task & one that I don’t know if I want to do. To explore all of my feelings concerning this seems to mean that I make myself extremely vulnerable.


I feel angry at Daddy for the way he died, not giving me a chance to say goodbye.”

I also discovered that I was angry with God for allowing him to die like he did. After I finished writing, I felt like there was something still inside me that was hidden, but this wasn’t the time to try and uncover it. I just felt too drained.

Last night at A.A., I shared this with the group. Afterward, Sherri talked a little about her mother’s death a few years ago. Sherri said because she was sick, she wasn’t with her mother in the hospital when she died. She was angry with herself for not being there. I also realized that I was mad at myself for not being with Daddy.

On the way home last night, another friend, Jerry told me about how he was mad at everyone, including God when his son died at an early age. He later realized that he had done everything that he could and didn’t have a reason to be angry.

Jerry asked me if I told Daddy that I loved him. I said that I had but couldn’t recall if I did the day he died. A feeling of fear and dread overcame me. Then I remembered that I probably had told him based on one of our last conversations that day.

Jerry said if I told Daddy and he knew I loved him, I didn’t have anything to be angry about. As I listen to Jerry talk, I knew that he was just trying to help me and perhaps in a way he did. But I believed that despite all this, being angry was just a part of grieving. In a way it seemed like Jerry was telling me that I shouldn’t be angry or maybe that I didn’t have the right to be angry. Perhaps that’s not what he meant.

When Mother died, people told me that I had to “brace up and be strong”. I would get so mad. It was like they were telling me that I didn’t have the right to grieve. I know they were just trying to help and probably didn’t know what else to say. If there was one thing that I learned from Mother’s death it was to be careful what you say to someone who just lost a loved one. That’s a time when you’re extremely sensitive and the wrong thing, no matter how helpful it’s intended to be, can be very hurtful. Sometimes the best thing to do is just give the person a hug and simply say “I’m sorry.”

The Fragility Of Life

Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. James 4:14 (KJV)

[Following John Ritter’s death in 2003] It’s a huge shock. It just makes me realize how fragile life is. ~ Sylvester Stallone

Whenever I think of the word "fragile", I think of something delicate like a ceramic cup or maybe one of those porcelain angels a lot of women like to collect. You have to be extremely careful with them. If they are knocked off, they will shatter into a million pieces.

The dictionary defines fragile as something "easily broken or destroyed" and in "need for careful handling".

Lately, I've been thinking about just how much this describes life. We go about our lives engaging in our daily activities living like we have no concerns and never stopping to think that we’re one breath, one heartbeat away from death.

We never stop to think just how fragile life is. Just like a porcelain angel our lives can be shattered into millions of pieces, never to be put together again.

We act like our lives are in our own hands, never stopping to realize it’s God who ultimately holds us in His hand and at any moment that He chooses He can end it.

An Oasis in the Desert of Life

I wrote this probably in 2003 when I was a regular rider with the bike club. At the time, I wrote articles for the local paper about our riding adventures. In fact, this was one of them. It’s been a few years since I’ve even been on my bike. I suppose once a person gets out of the habit of something, it’s hard to get back into it. (Sounds something like an excuse, doesn’t it?)I have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. The last time I went on a bike tour in East Texas back in May 2005, the pain in my wrists was terrible.


Since I’ve been a member of a local bicycle club, several of us have made the annual trip to Wichita Falls, TX the last of August to ride the Hotter N Hell Hundred (HHH). You have the choice of doing distances from 25 to 100 miles.

Riding any century is a challenge, but the HHH is especially one because of the heat. There have been times when the official high was 104. Keep in mind that the temperature is measured in the shade. I can only imagine what it is coming off the asphalt. Imagine riding down a long stretch of road with no shade trees. In front of you, you can see waves of heat coming off the road. For a few seconds the air may feel halfway comfortable. Then, there is a blast of heat that feels like the door of a furnace has been opened. You reach down on your bike for the water bottle and take a few swallows of the refreshing liquid, relishing its coolness as it goes into your body providing temporary relief from the heat.

What you’re really looking forward to is the next rest stop. There, you know you will find plenty of ice-cold water and Gator Aid, along with various snacks such as watermelon, oranges and bananas. Most importantly, you know you will find one thing at the rest stop that you won’t find in very many other places… Shade from the sun.

Later on in the ride, especially if you’re going for the 100 miles, these rest stops become more and more important. There have been numerous times when I’ve felt weak and sick from the heat and thought about giving up. I would finally make it to one of these welcome “oases in the desert”, get off my bike, make it as far as a cot, then lie down. Before long, one of the medical personnel would come over with ice-cold paper towels to put on my head and face. After lying there, sometimes for a long period of time, I gradually begin to feel better. The idea of giving up doesn’t seem much of an option any more. Once again I’m determined to get back on my bike and finish the ride.

In a single ride, I’ve gone through this cycle of wanting to give up several times. Each time, after a respite at an oasis, I feel refreshed and ready to go again.

In our daily lives we are faced with many problems and trials. Just like riding in the scorching heat, these problems can drag us down. They can make us want to give up on our goals, make us just want to throw our hands up and say, “why bother?”

Sometimes these problems nag at us; they become obsessions eating at us during every waking hour. How can we function in the midst of all these worries?

Just like the bicyclist who needs the rest stops to replenish his supply of water and to provide a place of rest from the sun, as we travel the road of life we need an oasis from our problems.

Sometimes this comes from finding a quiet place to ourselves, a place where we can relax uninterrupted. Somewhere we can quietly think about the problems at hand.

At other times, this “oasis in the desert” is found in a close friend. Someone we are comfortable being ourselves with, not afraid to reveal our insecurities and deepest fears.

Like sitting on a cot, under a tent with cold towels on our face, this special time with a close friend can be refreshing. This is just what we need to get us over our thoughts of throwing our hands up and saying “no more”. Providing us with what we need to be determined to continue on the road of life, to reach our destination despite whatever hardships we may face.

A Father's Day Letter To My Dad

This is a letter that I gave Daddy back in 2008 while he was in the hospital.

Dear Daddy,

One day, when we were in the grocery store a lady approached us and said we had to be father and son; the resemblance was too strong. I don’t think I ever told you, but I felt very proud at that moment that I was your son and that I resembled you.

There’s a country song with words something like, “I’m seeing my father in me. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I walk the way he walks; I talk the way he talks.

Over the years I’ve caught myself saying a certain word the way you do or using a certain tone of voice like you do. I’ve noticed this a lot in other families. The son or daughter saying words or phrases like their Daddy. At times it seems like the words I use and the tone of my voice remind me of hearing your conversations with Papaw. I’ve heard that we become our parents and I suppose in a sense I’m becoming you.

Please be patient with me when I forget you can’t walk as fast as you once could. But remember who taught me everything I know about walking fast. You did, Dad! I can still recall being a boy and having to run to keep up with your normal walking. You passed that down to me and because it came from you I’m proud of it.

Father’s Day is as special day to remember and celebrate your life as our dad, your love for us as well as our love for you. A day to remember the good times you had with us and the hope for many more good times to come.

Thanks for being our daddy and Happy Father’s Day!!

Your son,

The Demon of My Mind

Inspire by my OCD


In a dark and gloomy place in the back of my mind is a door that leads to a cellar.

I hear continuous scratching at the door and on the dirt floor. I know the source of the noise. It frightens me to think about it. It’s been there a long time and won’t go away. It’s an insidious, evil thing… a demon. It has one thing on its mind. To be released.

Sometimes, it’s scratching and clawing is intense, invading my mind and making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Sometimes, its efforts to be released are quieter. Still allowing me to think, but always trying to claw it’s way out. It’s persistent, always clawing and scratching. Desperately trying to be free. God, how it wants out! I tremble at

the thought of it being released. The terror it could cause!

Locked Up Memories

Some more of my writing from a few years ago.


I had an argument with my sister a few years ago. During that time, I played certain parts of it over like a CD on continuous playback. After awhile, I shoved the memory inside a door in the back of my mind & locked it. Now, I panic whenever I think about unlocking it.

It’s kind of like sweeping the dirt under a rug. The floor looks nice and clean to visitors. The dirt is out of sight, out of mind. Right? Perhaps out of sight, but not out of mind. I know it’s still there, waiting to be discovered. Possibly by someone other than me.

If I’m the only one who ever knows it’s there, that’s enough. While visitors think everything is clean, I know the truth.

With memories repressed or locked behind doors, they’re not out of sight, out of mind. I know it’s there and it’s wanting to get back out.

The locked up memory is pushing on the door. Putting stress on it. Over time, if enough pressure is applied, the door is liable to break open. Then what’s the magnitude of the problem? Worse than in the beginning?

The Key

I wrote this sometime around 2005 after the breakup of a very good friendship:

There was a beautiful wooden door with a shiny brass plate that said “Friendship”. We both had a key. I may never have touched the door, much less unlocked it. Then, one day, you used your key, opened the door and invited me in.

A whole new world was behind that door for me. A person with no close friends, over time, found the best one he ever had. We shared our mutual interests. We shared our thoughts and feelings. Never having to worry about others finding out. We laughed a lot and cried, too. We ate out with others and by ourselves.

As time went by, I became more emotionally attached. I thought I had to be with you. If I couldn’t see you, at least I could call. When we weren’t together, it felt like a part of me was missing. When we were apart, I thought of you constantly. Weren’t my feelings normal for someone I felt so close to? You are a beautiful lady, both inside and out.

I knew this could go no further. A friendship was all it could ever be. You had definitely told me that. Yet, my feelings for you continued to grow. They had become almost too much. After a difficult struggle within myself, I decided it was time to start cutting the emotional bonds that I had become entangled with.

I gave you my key and started to tell you I may be back for it one day. After giving it some thought, I knew this friendship didn’t need to go back to the way it was. I said,

“The key is yours, I won’t be back for it.”

As I started to leave, I opened the door, and turned to face you. I said, “Goodbye, my friend. It’s been a wonderful five years.” I then walked out and closed the door on our friendship.

As I walked down the path, I heard you lock the door. A tear ran down my cheek….

Confessions From An Alcoholic/Addict

There's a saying in AA that we're only "as sick as our secrets." Well, I have a secret that I need to get rid of. Last month, right after my dad passed away, I visited my pdoc and reluctantly asked her for a prescription of Ativan. I was afraid that she wouldn't give it to me because a couple years ago I had abused it for a little while.

My doc did agree to write the presciption, but said she didn't trust me with it. I agreed with her. She wrote it with the provision that when I got the bottle filled I would bring it to her nurse and let her keep it. I would only get enough for a week at a time. The script was for .5 Ativan twice a day.

Everything went OK for a short time. I took no more than she prescribed. Even then I was hesitant to take as much as it was prescribed. I didn't want to become hooked on it again.

A few days after taking it, I couldn't tell it was working that much. So, I decided to stop taking it. I felt there might come a time when I might really need it and it wouldn't work.

I have this habit of sitting up sometimes all night. I don't want to go to bed. If I could, I'd rather be able to stay up 24/7 and still be able to function properly. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

For the past few nights after I sit up for so long, I begin to get angry about everything. When this happenes, I feel a rage coming on. I want to throw things. So far nothing important. I've resisted the urge so far to trash my apartment.

Either these feelings peaked last night or I just got tired of having them. To make a long story short, I took 5 .5mg of the ativan fairly close together. It mellowed me out some, but didn't come close to giving me the feeling I had gotten a couple years ago. I think then the meds were a little stronger.

What was left, I flushed down the commode. Now I realize there may come a time when I would really benefit from taking the meds right. After all, my grief for dad is still extremely fresh and I don't know where it will take me. I know for a large part, I'm still in denial about it.

The way my thinking works is this. Since I've already abused the pills, I might as well go ahead and get my drug of choice which is whisky and indulge myself. I've only abused ativan and one other drug, hydrocotone for a brief time. My real choice is the whisky.

The thing is, I already feel enough guilt about abusing the pills. I can only imagine how much more guilt I'll feel if I get drunk.

Up until Oct. 2 I had a year of sobriety that I was proud of. Then I gave into the desire to drink... No excuses... I drank because I wanted to. It felt like an overwhelming urge that I got tired of resisting.

I was both open and honest with my counselor and my AA family. I had enough guilt. Lying about it or denying it wouldn't have anything better. I'm grateful for the support that I recieved from all of them.

I just wanted to share this with you and get it out in the open.

Thanks for listening!

Daddy, I miss you so much!

Originally written on 11/9/09

Toward the end of the day is the time when my thoughts of Daddy are the strongest. I don’t know why that is, unless it’s the time when I feel the loneliest. Tonight during the AA meeting my feelings were the strongest they’ve been in several days.


Daddy had never been to Calvin and Sherri’s house, but it was like I could almost see him sitting beside me on the couch. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I could “feel” his presence there. As I write this now, I “feel” him near me, but not like it was earlier.

I’m not saying this is anything mystical, but I think it’s just me wanting him to be near me again. I miss him so much and he’s only been gone a little over two weeks. How much more will I miss him in the days to come? I never, ever want to stop missing him.

I am so glad that I had the opportunity to talk to him several times the day he died. That morning he seemed to be so happy go lucky. There didn’t appear to be anything bothering him, except maybe his back. He didn’t even get upset when I told him the bank made a mistake and put his check in my account.

I thought that was both funny and ironic. In the past when it was my responsibility to see that his check was deposited, a lot of times I would be late taking care of it. As a result, there would be months when no deposit showed up on his bank statement. He would get upset and think I was keeping his checks for myself. Even after I showed him the statements where there were two deposits, he still didn’t seem to understand that I always put his checks in the bank.

Then just two days before he left us, he took his check to the bank and it was mistakenly put into my account. I discovered what had happened that Friday morning. I called to tell him what happened and that I was going to take care of it. It didn’t seem to bother him a bit. We discussed it a few minutes and he finally said “oh well”. My reply was “Oh, really? Does that mean you don’t care if I keep it?” I don’t think he knew what to say about that. I just laughed and said I was joking. I think Daddy laughed, too.

It’s not surprising that I have regrets when I think about Daddy. There are things that I wished I had done with him. I am glad that I had been able to take him out to eat at least once before he left us. There should have been many more times besides that.

Now, there are things that I’ll never be able to do with him. Such as invite him to my apartment for lunch. Ask him to spend the night with me. He would’ve loved either one of those. I can’t even remember the last time he was in my apartment. He never got to watch a movie with me on my new TV.

Then there were my intentions to do something like a life story about him. I had a list of questions that would have documented his life from the time he was a boy until now. That project will never be done now. I think he would’ve enjoyed that, too.

But don’t I think that Daddy enjoyed talking to me several times that Friday? I believe he did that morning and I would like to think he found some kind of comfort in talking to me that afternoon when he was in such pain.

I only wish that I had known what was causing some of his pain in his stomach. I wish that I could’ve been there with him when he took his last breath. I would have loved to have held his hand, giving him what comfort that I could. I wonder what kind of pain he felt up until the end?

But there’s something else that I keep thinking about. It might have been the very last time that I talked to him at 4:05PM. He said that he wanted me to get back in church. Not for him, but for my sake. I think he wanted me to promise him that I would. I reluctantly said that I would think about it. When I said that I loved him, he replied in a way that he usually did. He said, “I love you with the love of Jesus.”

So, was Daddy really alone when he took his last breath? Could Jesus really have been there holding his hand, giving Daddy comfort that no one on earth could’ve given him? I want to believe when his time was over the angels escorted him to Heaven.

Daddy, I miss you so much!

Personal Thoughts On Grief

Originally written on 11/5/09

In my second entry, I stated "each of us is left alone with our own grief." There are numerous books that have been wrote on the subject of grief. I'm sure that as many different books that have been written, there are just as many differing opinions on the subject. I believe that each one of us who has experienced some kind of loss could write their own book and each one would be just as true as the so called experts on the subject.


We all experience it in our own unique way. There are similarities in the grieving process that we all have in common, but no two people grieve in the exact same way. How could we? The relationship that my sister had with our dad is different from the one that I had with him. When there is a death in the family, a lot of well meaning people say things like, "I know exactly how you feel." I know those words are meant to comfort, but if we really think about them they are just not true.

Tomorrow will be two weeks since Daddy passed away. There have been several days that have gone by that I haven't cried at all. I don't know, perhaps my sister has cried more. Does that mean she misses him more than I do? No, it just means we grieve differently.

To me, it hardly seems real that he's gone. After the funeral, when I was home by myself, I just shook my head and said "that wasn't my Daddy in that casket. If I call him on the phone he'll answer. I still can't fully grasp the fact that he's not with us any more. I believe that's the way we were created. We have some kind of "safety valve" built in us to soften the blow until the time comes that we can deal with it.

The Day My Life Changed

This entry was origianly written on 10/27/09:


The last few days have seemed so unreal. It's like I'm in a bad dream and waiting to wake up and find that everything is alright. But I know it's no dream and things are a long way from being alright. Last Friday afternoon (Oct. 23, 2009) , my dad passed away very suddenly and unexpected.

I had talked to him several times that day. Friday morning he sounded rather up beat. That afternoon, I could tell that he wasn't feeling good. (The night before he had fallen and they took him to the ER. CAT Scan and X-Rays showed he was OK. The only thing was that the fall hurt his back.) He was in a lot of back pain and he complained of being very constipated. If we had only known the constipation was a symptom of a much greater problem.

The last time that I talked to Daddy was 4:05 PM. I had talked to his nurse a little earlier. She had given him a pain pill around 1:00PM and the next one wasn't due until another 12 hours. The nurses were in the middle of a shift change and they would give him some laxative as soon as they could.

About 5:50, his nurse called me. She said they had found Daddy a few minutes earlier. He was unresponsive and had no vital signs. The ambulance was taking him to the ER. To make a long story short, by the time my sister and I got to the hospital, our Daddy was already gone. I'm rather sure he was dead before he left the nursing home.

The coroner decided to perform an autopsy. They found that Daddy had hardening of the arteries around his intestines that had blocked his bowels. He had complained of constipation the day before, but not as bad as Friday. I don't fully understand how that ended his life, but one of our cousins who is a nurse, told us if it had been caught in time he could've had emergency surgery that might have saved his life.

To being with, my only regret was that I wasn't there with him when he died. If I had only known... Then yesterday I started wondering how much pain he was in when he took his last breath. I wondered what it was like for him when he died. I'm afraid that it wasn't a painless death.

The funeral was yesterday afternoon. When I got back home, it just didn't seem real. I thought that really wasn't my dad in that casket and if I called his phone he would answer. I'm sure that when the full effect hits me I will have a lot more regrets.

It's just my sister and me now.... And I feel alone...

Thankfully, there are people who have been here for me to lean on. My sister and I have pulled together for each other. My friend Calvin has been by my side ever since Friday night at the hospital. He says that's part of the program of AA. He says he considers me like a brother. I'm reminded of that verse, "A friend sticks closer than a brother". Perhaps Calvin is not only my best friend, but the brother I never had. I am so thankful for him. Of course my therapist has been very supportive.

They are not the only ones... The people from Daddy’s church, our relatives, even those we're not really close to.

All of these people help, but I suppose when it comes right down to it, each of us is left all alone with our own grief.

Even though my Dad is no longer with us, I will never think of it as our relationship is over. He will forever be in my heart and in my mind.

Introduction

A few days ago, that old classic movie “The Wizard Of Oz” was on TV again. How many times have all of us watched Dorothy click her heals together and say “There’s no place like home”? I recently spent the night with a friend and had an enjoyable time, but there was nothing like coming back home to my own bed. There truly is no place like home.


Two of the most important factors in any home are the Mother and Father. Without them, I don’t believe you can really have a “Home Sweet Home.” Without a Mother, where is the love and caring the children need? Without a Father, where is the stable home environment that’s needed?


As the children grow into adulthood, they quite naturally carry the traits and characteristics of their parents. How many times have I noticed the simple words and phrases that I’ve picked up from my Mother and Dad and repeated throughout my lifetime? How many times have I been talking to my sister or friends and noticed that I was talking or acting in ways that I’ve observed my parents behaving?


I’m now 48 and I can recall when I was in my 20’s and thinking how fortunate I was to not only still have both parents living, but they were still married. A lot of other people I knew either had at least one parent who was deceased or they were divorced.


Yes, despite the difficulties that I had while growing up, I was truly blessed to have had my two parents.


Do I have regrets now that they’re gone? Yes, I have a lot of them. There are many things I wish I could go back and change, but time only flows in one direction. Several times before my Daddy died, I had the thought of recording some of his personal history from his childhood on up to adulthood. But that was one of the many things that I kept putting off. Now it’s forever too late.


I hope somehow by keeping this blog I can honor both his and Mother’s memory. Perhaps in some way I can make up for some of the things that I neglected doing. I believe if they were both still here, they would say that I was the best son they ever had. In my opinion, I let them down many times.


In actuality, I’m a rather selfish person. Too many times I felt I should come first. Therefore neglecting the two wonderful people who gave me life. Now they’re both gone and all I have are memories.


I am a pessimist and I have a difficult time remembering the good times I had with Mom and Dad. I can recall too many times when they needed me and I was off doing something else that I thought was more important. I wonder how many times they sacrificed doing something for themselves when they chose to help me instead?


Mother has been gone for over six years. She left us on August 17, 2003. Daddy has been gone less than a month: October 23, 2009. I still mourn the loss of Mother at times. Daddy’s death just doesn’t seem real. It’s something that just wasn’t supposed to happen.


Despite the fact that he had a lot of health problems: Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, Bipolar Disorder, etc. I still look at him as being my “rock and strong point” in my life. Oh, he could be so demanding at times, but he was still my dad.


How I wish I could’ve been there for him when he took his last breath, like I was there for Mother. But some things in life just don’t turn out the way you want them to. Perhaps it’s like a friend told me today. Maybe it turned out just the way God wanted it to turn out.


I chose the nickname “LoneWolf” both because I like wolves and because I tend to be a loner. I keep to myself a lot. Perhaps too much at times. Now, the word alone is very adequate. I still have my sister and we’re closer than ever before. I have very good friends who care about me and check on me regular. But first Mother left us and now Daddy is gone and I feel alone.


But they aren’t totally gone. They will live forever in our hearts and minds. Whenever we recall memories of them they will be here with us. Whenever we close our eyes and see them, they will be alive in our hearts.