Not Flaking, Yet

So, here I am, day two... that's right folks. I can successfully carry through on a commitment for two whole days. Aren't you proud?

Seriously, it feels good to be putting my fingers to the keyboard. Even when I don't have much to say, like tonight. There's a cold rampaging through my house right now. Alex is in my room, passed out in front of the TV, because he's so pitiful when he's asleep that I just can't tell him no. Jym is working, powering through in that manly way of his, although I'm sure he'll make up for it by sleeping extra late on his days off.

And me? Well, despite my stuffy head, sore throat, and burgeoning cough I just managed to finish my speech assignment, so I've dosed myself with NyQuil. I expect it to take effect shortly, so if you see a random string of characters on your screen just a little further down, that was my forehead hitting the keyboard. NyQuil hits me like a ton of bricks and it also tends to make me chatty, so forgive any rambling I may do.

I haven't managed to get any Halloween photos uploaded; fingers crossed that I manage to do that tomorrow. You know, after I finish my online math test, complete the rough draft for my English Comp paper, read the three chapters for the next test in my Psychology class and practice my Monday night speech 3 or 4 times. Other than those things, I've got nothing going on.

All right guys, I can feel the NyQuil now and I've had to re-type this sentence about 5 times already, so I'm off to bed. More to come tomorrow.

P.S. My speech for Monday is a persuasive speech to convince people to get at least 8 hours of sleep. Do you think they audience will be able to detect the hypocrisy?

His Favorite Color Was Red

My father died this summer. I don't think I'll ever be able to stand outside on a hot, humid day again without remembering the first moments of my grief. Smoking a cigarette, walking in circles in the grass, just trying to get it together enough to drive home.

He had been sick for a long time, kidney failure, heart attacks, diabetes, liver problems from his medication an occasional seizure thrown in just for fun and scariest of all, a stroke. He started getting sick when I was in high school; we actually celebrated my 16th birthday in his hospital room, so we had been living with the reality of his illness for almost 20 years.

You think that you're prepared for something like this. We all know it would happen, and as more time passed we knew that it might happen soon. But we never really believed it would happen. When he went into the hospital for the last time, in mid-August we all assumed he'd be back home soon, maybe on dialysis, but home.

On August 29th, I stood in the ICU, where I had visited so many times, and watched my mother let him go. They had been trying to revive him for at least 30 minutes, while we drove to the hospital, and when we arrived she told them to stop, that they had done all that could be expected. She thanked them, and I cannot imagine the strength that must have taken, to thank the people who couldn't bring him back and to be the one to make the decision that it was time to stop trying.

I miss him so much, and whenever I see a photo of him it hits me again. The thought that I'll never hug him, never feel the scratchiness of his stubble as he kisses my cheek or hear his laugh, it's like a punch to the gut that takes my breath away.

We talk about him every day. I'm determined that Alex will know how much his Papaw loved him and hopeful that he will remember how much he loved his Papaw in return.

This is what I remember:

flying through the air as a child, as he swung me in his arms, knowing that he would never drop me

floating in the ocean with his hands under my back, learning to swim

sitting on his shoulders in that same warm water as a storm rolled in, feeling the waves crash over us, but never being afraid because his strength would keep us safe

sitting in our kitchen, watching him cut up the steak for the stroganoff my mother would be making for dinner

learning to shoot - his large, calloused hands wrapped around my small ones

climbing on his tow truck in the summer, "helping" him wash it, but mostly just getting squirted with the hose

Christmas mornings where the joy in his eyes outshone anything my brother and I were feeling, just so happy to see his kids happy

walking down the aisle towards my soon-to-be husband, my hand on his arm, it felt like floating

the first time he held my son, so tiny, and the gentle love I could see as he cradled Alex in his arms

the way he loved my mother and how they showed me, together, that marriage isn't always easy but it's so worth the work

a million more small moments - the wonderful, which I will hold on to as tightly as I can, and the fights and friction that come from strong, conflicting personalities living in the same house, which I will let go of

I will miss him for the rest of my life.

Love you, Daddy.

Ick

Alex let us sleep in today. When I woke up, about an hour or so after I usually do, my first thought (Okay, my second thought. The first one was "I'm not tired. How'd that happen?") was to wonder what was wrong. Alex never lets us sleep late anymore. He's all "eh, eh, eh" and come get me mama as soon as his eyes open in the morning.

So, I went to check on him. As soon as I opened the door he started to stir, so I picked him up and took him back to our room. I figured I could get some cuddles before he started to throw himself recklessly at every dangerous object in the house. I laid down in the bed with him and he let his head sink to my chest. I buried my nose in his hair and took a big deep breath, looking for that elusive baby smell that seems to be disappearing at an alarming rate. I did not find the wonderful baby smell. What I found was... less pleasant.

Sometime in the night Alex puked on himself. And I let him sleep in it! Because I am clearly a candidate for mother of the year. His hair was crusty with it, the sheets were covered, even the side of the crib had ick all over it. And his beloved dragon, the one that my mother bought for him the day he was born, the one that he has never slept without, was coated in the stuff.

He seems fine now, but ick indeed.