Peace On Earth In Our Family This Christmas

I have been offline for the past few months and as a result haven't updated my blog. I want to thank all of my visitors who have been here during that time. There have been several people in the various blog communities I'm a member of post comments, request friendship, etc. and I'm behind on answering those. Thanks to all of you and I'll get to those soon.

Today would've been my parents 51st wedding anniversary. I sure miss them, especially here at Christmas time.

One of the things I miss since they have passed away is our family Christmas Eve party. That was a special time for Mother and a family tradition she started. We would have sandwiches, chips & dip, and a few of her delicious pies. Then we would exchange some of our presents. You'll have to forgive me - I'm having one of those "warm, fuzzy" moments right now.

This was one of the topics my sister and I discussed when she called earlier today. We hadn't talked in several days because our off and on relationship was in the "off" mode due to a difference of opinion. She called because of Mom and Dad's anniversary. I'm glad she did; I had intended to call her.

Another topic my sister and I discussed were the deaths of two of our aunts last week. The first one was Dad's sister-in-law & the other was Mother's sister-in-law. My heart goes out to our families. Death is difficult, especially at Christmas time when all the family have hopes of being together.

These two deaths reminded me that my sister and I are the last of our family. I can remember how lonely Daddy was at times after all of his brothers and sisters were gone and especially after Mother passed away.

My sister and I won't be together this Christmas, but will be spending it with other family and friends. We'll be having our family gathering the first of the year when my niece and nephew will be here. But because we were willing to put aside our differences, we don't have to feel so alone either. We still have each other and that's the most important thing whether we're together or not.

I'm glad we have "Peace On Earth" in our family again and I truly hope you have it in your family this Christmas and the coming New Year.

"I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day"

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), 1867)

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

The Important Things In Life

It's been a little over two months since I've posted and the only excuse that I can really give is that I've let other things get in the way of taking care of my blog. Despite this, there have been several who have been coming here and I do appreciate that. That has been an encouragement to start writing again.

It's been six months today since Daddy died and I thought this would be a good time to start posting again. It just doesn't seem like it's been that long. Six months ago was also a Friday and it's almost like I'm reliving it all over again.

I can still remember very vividly talking to Daddy several times that day on the phone. At least two or three of the conversations were about the bank accidentally putting his check into my account and me telling him I was on the way to straighten it out. I was surprised, but glad, he didn't get upset about it. His attitude then was like "Oh well, things like that happen".

This August 17th will be seven years since Mother passed away and it doesn't seem like it's been that long either.

I'm so glad that I still have my family: My sister & brother-in-law, my niece & her family and my nephew. I'm so glad that I still have my AA family and friends.

I'm glad that we had our mother and daddy as long as we did. I'm glad that we still have their memories to cherish.

I'm also glad that I still have my sobriety. Without that, I wouldn't be able to enjoy all that life has to offer.

For me, there's nothing more important than that.

Our Influence On Children

I wonder how many of us adults ever stop and think about how are actions and words affect our children, grand-children, nieces, nephews and even our friend’s children? They have such impressionable minds that are so easy for us to mold and shape. A lot of times we don’t realize the influence that we have on them.

I was standing in a check out lane at a local grocery store when I noticed a little boy and his grandfather just ahead of me. As they were waiting their turn in line, the boy’s papaw was talking to another person. When it finally became their turn at the checkout, Papaw continued with his conversation and the small boy began his struggle to reach into the buggy and place each item on the counter.

When his papaw realized what was going on, he started to unload the buggy but his grandson quickly protested. He told his papaw that he would do it! So the older man turned back to his conversation.

When the boy was almost finished, I began to wonder about the last item in the buggy. I knew it was much too heavy for the child to move, but in his mind I can imagine that he was picturing himself big enough to move it for his papaw. Finally, his papaw turned around and put the case of beer on the counter.

It Takes More Than Time To Heal A Wound

Some of my readers may have noticed that I like to include quotes in some of my posts. I also have some of my favorite quotes listed toward the bottom of my blog. In addition to collecting quotes, I also like to collect old sayings and when I can, find the original meaning behind them.

For instance:

In Shakespeare's time, mattresses were secured on bed frames by ropes. When on the ropes the mattress tightened, making the bed firmer to sleep on, hence the phrase "Goodnight, sleep tight."

In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts. So in old England, when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them to mind their own pints and quarts and settle down. It's where we get the phrase "Mind your P's and Q's."

When I was a child, one of my mother’s brothers asked me once if I had been “minding my P’s and Q’s.” I had no idea what he meant!

There’s another saying that I hear a lot. “Time heals all wounds.” Those sound like comforting words, especially in times of grief, but just think about that saying for a moment. Does time really heal all wounds?

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.

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.

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.

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,

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!

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.