Secrets and Risks

I hate surprises. I really, really do. Secrets, anything like that, I'm not a fan. I hate being the last to know anything. I like being prepared, good or bad.

The reason I didn't totally lose it the night Daddy died was because I ahd some preparation. A half an hour of not knowing for sure where I could prepare myself for the possibility. If I had been blind-sided, I don't think I could have handled it.

I don't like pleasant surprises, either. If I have a choice of having something sprung on me or being prepared, I'd rather be told right away without very much drama. Especially if it's something important or about someone important to me.

I also have a hard time going after I want. I'm terrified of rejection. The very thought makes me sick to my stomach. So, I don't always go after what I want, I let it come to me and if it doesn't, I pine and mope, but I rarely do anything about it.

The idea of doing something about it terrifies me. Even when I know I have to put myself out there or I won't get what I want. I just can't take the risk, the fear of getting hurt is just too big. I can take physical risks, those don't bother me, but I can't put my emotions on the line.

I want to be happy, but I'm afraid to take the crucial step. I refuse to take the risks that lead to the great rewards. Deep down, I'm a coward. I hate that about myself, but I don't know how to change it.

Well, that's not true, I need to take a leap of faith, I'm just not sure how. It can be pretty frightening. The worst part is, my father wouldn't understand. He was never afraid of rejection, he just put himself out there. I can't do it.

But maybe sometimes you just have too...

Dream House

Tonight, my mother and I were discussing my dream house. I don't remember how the subject came up, but it did. If I could design the perfect house for myself, what would it be like.

The answer came pretty easily. Four bedrooms, five actually, but I'll explain in a few minutes. Mainly because in the perfect fantasy life I'd have three children, a boy and then two girls. I don't know if it will happen, if it can happen, but that's the fantasy number. Fantasy rarely has anything to do with reality, at least in my experience.

A big roomy kitchen. Lots of counter space and enough room for a table and some chairs, btu the dining room would be seperate, though connected. But the space wouldn't be open, I've never really liked that, I don't think you should be able to see the dirty dishes from the dining room.

A living room and a playroom for the children. Also a basement that could be used as a bar/rec area. Put a TV down there, maybe a pool table. A place where the adults can hang out, but the chilren can be comfortable too.

Four bathrooms. Yes, a little excessive, and possibly a plumming nightmare. But I hate sharing a bathroom. I want one in the basement, since if people are drinking then they shouldn't stumble up stairs, one on the main level, and two upstairs. One attached to the master bedroom and one near the other three bedrooms, that the children could share.

I've always loved the old houses that have the nursery connected to the master bedroom, so I'd want to do that, and have it small enough that, as my mother pointed out, I could alwyas convert it to a really big closet later when the children were older. I have a lot of clothes, after all. I just think it's convient and I like the idea.

Lots of windows. Window seats. A moderate sized yard, fenced in, and facing the kitchen, so I could cook dinner and keep an eye on the kids at the same time. At least one big, climbing tree, though I'd live in fear of broken bones, because it does happen and it hurts lke Hell. A swing and maybe a playhouse.

Definitly a two-car garage, one that connects to the house because winter gets really, really cold. Sliding glass doors somewhere, but a nice big roomy porch. And a deck or patio, one with a chair-swing.

I'm not sure where this house would be located. I want to say somwhere where there are people, malls, and delivery. But another part of me, wonders if I would be happy raising children anywhere but the country. So the house has no location, it's just fantasy after all.

Because when I think of this house, I think of the life I'd lead when I lived in it. The husbanbd who has no name or face, but is there. Three children. A boy named for my father, though I can't picture him all that clear--maybe because I havne't found the man who'll his remsemble, yet. Then a girl, Katherine Elizabeth, who looks like me, but dark like my mother. The youngest is another girl, withut a name and with vague features, I think she's a blend, but I can only pick out hte parts that look like me.

I'd stay at home until the youngest was in school, if it was finacially feasible, and since this is a fantasy, it is. We'd have a cat, because I'm really not a dog person, and I can't tell you anything else. Just the basic parts of my fantasy future, the one one that probably won't come to pass. At least not the way I envision it now. Because it never does and there are things working against it.

But, really, that's half the fun. The reality will probably be something entirely different, but that's okay. We take what life gives us. Still, it's nice to dream, so I ask of all of you, what's your dream house like? Does it surprise you a little when you really think about it? Do you imagine the life that would go with it?

Because, I know I do.

Guys and Friends

I'll say it right now. I don't really understand the opposite sex. This might be why I'm the one of my group of friends who's always single.

Part of the problem, is that I'm obsess too much, so I'm trying to curb down on that. I'm also trying to be much more upfront and you know tell the guy I like him or even call im occasionally, even if I hate doing that. I'm just not thinking too far in advance, I figure that's my best course.

But, I still don't get guys. For example, and this goes for both sexes, I've never understood the point of jealousy. I just can't wrap my mind around the idea of beig bothered by innocent, platonic friendships that just happen to be with someone of the opposite sex.

I'm also really independant in some ways. I'm not going to bend my life to fit someone else's. If I have plans, then I have plans. I'll compromise about somethings, for instance go to a party that I really don't wnat to go too, but about other things. No way.

I do know that, when it really comes to it, I'd much rather try dating in the informal sense, than rush into a real 'date' with all the fears and expectations and nervousness to go with it. If you're just hanging at a party, you can always leave when you want (especially if you live two blocks away). Or you can pretend that you're just friends, like you always have been.

I just wish that this whole thing was easier. But then, I guess that would take the fun out of it, right? Is it fun for anyone? It just seems like work and drama to me, but being alone sucks, so you make the effort.

On a differnet note, I got the pictures from my party developed. Some pictures that Ty and Taels really don't want circulated. A really nice group shot of Meg, Tonya and I; some nice indivdual shots of Ty, Tonya, and my mother respectively; Some funny pictures, mainly involving Taela, and a few weird ones.

But the pictures show that we had a good time. Though, my couch still smells like creme de menthe, thanks to Taela and who knows if my shirts going to come clean. However, fun was had by all.

See, in life some things are really confusing and others aren't confusing at all. Guys are confusing, friends make sense--in fact, they're one of the most wonderful things that life has to offer.

One Year

A year ago today my life changed forever. It split into two parts, before and after. I became a different person in one terrible awful moment.

So, I had a lot of reasons to dread today. Dread the memories. Dread the realization that time kept ticking, even though my world was shattered into ten million pieces. That an entire year had passed by without one of the people I loved the most.

It wasn't as bad as I thought. I built it up so much in my head and that turned out to be helpful. It wasn't as horrible as I had prepared myself for it to be. I mean, it was hard, facing the memories of this time last year, but it didn't break me.

Maybe, I'm stronger than I thought or maybe it's the fact that it's just a day. A painful reminder yes, but I have a lot of those, every day. This is just one of the worst, but the last in a long year full of painful dates.

I survived. I survived the first year of my grief. I made it through every significant occasion and it didn't destroy me. It hurt, but I think it always will, still I made it through. I survived.

I think I thought it would be like an instant replay. That I'd relive last February 21st and vivid Technicolor and I certainly flashed back, but it's just memories. The real pain was already inflicted and everything else is just a shadow, a remembrance.

Taela was here with me all day. She went with me for a few important trips. I went to my hands and picked up my dad's Bruins hat. I hadn't seen it in a year, hadn't been ready too.

That hat was my dad's favorite. My last father's day present. He never went out without and he was wearing it when he was killed.

My aunt rescued it from the wreckage of the car, but she knew I wasn't ready to have it back. But she knew that I would want ti back. And I did, finally, I was ready to have it back and accept that my dad didn't come with it.

I'll never wear it and no one else will either, but I'll keep it for the rest of my life. It's in some ways, the last piece of my father, I have. At least it's the last physical link to him.

Next, I made Taela drive me to the scene of the accident. A year later, you can't tell that someone died there. It's look so normal and pretty. Like nothing ever happened.

After that, we went to the graveyard. I've only been to his tombstone a few times. It's too hard, too strange. I find it odd to see my father's name written on stone along with two dates summarizing his life. I don't know if that won't ever be weird.

It was still weird, but it was also disconnected. It was a stone with some words, but it had nothing to do with the man my father was. Not really.

His bodies not there (it's on our mantel--something I'm just learning to get used to), but even if it was, he still wouldn't be there. He's gone.

It reminds me of the poem that was read at his funeral and at Menya's as well.

In Remembrance
By Anonymous

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamonds glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle morning rain.
And when you wake in the morning's hush,
I am the sweet uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.

It compliments his personal beliefs and my own. He is not at his grave or even in the box of ashes. The essence, the soul is long gone. He always thought he'd became a part of the universe again. That his soul, his spirit, would merge with the universe as much as his body eventually would.

I'm going to slip back in time now. To this time last year. By 10 o'clock, my world was already shattered beyond repair. I had already heard those awful words "Rick was killed", I'll probably hear them over and over for the rest of my life.

I got up late that morning. I'd slept in and I only had a few minutes before I had to leave for work.

I remember, my dad was on the couch, watching TV. I snapped at him, but he ignored it and had me laughing a minute later. I remember, leaning down and kissing him goodbye, then telling him I loved him and then I left and by the time I came back, he was gone forever.

I flash to that scene a lot, imagine it like an opening of "Without A Trace", where the person vanishes from the frame. I imagine my father vanishing from my life as I turn away from him, though it didn't happen quite like that.

I don't know what exactly happened, no one does. Some of it I know, the beginning of the story. My mother lost a key. My father borrowed his sister's car and baby-sat for my cousins. My mom got there and took over. He left and went home.

That we knew, it's what happened after that we don't know for sure. I don't know for sure the reason my dad went out that night. We know he left the TV on and his coat at home. That he'd told my mom that he'd be at home waiting for her, but that for some reason he went out.

Nothing is known for certain, but the fact that at about ten to six, he was just outside of Castleton when his car spun out of control and he was t-boned by another car before he had a chance to get out of the way. He was killed on impact.

As the local paper would put it "A Castleton man died and two others were sent to hospital following a two-car collision south of Castleton Saturday night." There was some details of the accident itself and then, "Eric McKague, 48, of Castleton was pronounced dead at the scene. A post-mortem was to be conducted Sunday to determine the exact cause of death.

And that was it, the most horrific moment of my life summoned up in a few paragraphs, there was more, but mostly details about the weather conditions. Nothing of relevance to me, really.

At 9 o'clock that night, I got off work and my mother was waiting for me. I asked her what was wrong and she launched into the whole story, staring with losing the key. I was impatient and told her to get to the point and it was then that she told me that she thought my father was dead.

She didn't know for certain. No one had told her. But there was a big accident outside of town, she knew that. She knew from the number of cop cars that someone was dad. She knew that she couldn't find Daddy anywhere. And she knew what her heart told her.

I knew she was right. That he was dead. But for the entire car ride home, I clung to the fragile hope that we were both wrong. I dialed the cell phone over and over again, but he didn't answer. I remember that we kept talking about him in the past tense and I kept correcting myself. That I refused to cry even one tear until I knew for surest hat he was dead.

That came when he came home and my aunt told me. And my world changed forever. One moment I was happy with two parents, the next I had lost one of the two most important people in my life. My worst nightmare was playing out in vivid technicolor.

A year later, sometimes I still can't believe it's real, that he's gone and that he's not coming back. I don't get him back. I wish I could. But it's not going to happen. I have to accept that.

I'm trying to. I'm trying to remember him and not think of that awful day. Because it had nothing to do with my memories of him. It was just the end of the story, but not the most important part.

The good times are what I want to focus on. The memories of the wonderful, complex man that was my father. I want to remember his laughter, the way he never lost an argument, how infuriating he was, yet how I could never stay mad at him. Those are the things I want to recall.

So I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me.

Memories of dancing to the Stone in my living room. Of snowmobiling parties and barbecues. Of Hiawatha summers. Of long conversations. Of hearing the Stone live and dancing with him.

My father was laughter, heated debates, and music. He loved music. He felt nothing defined who you were better than a good song and he always thought that Behind Blue Eyes by The Who was the song that captured him the best. So here it is, for him.

Behind Blue Eyes
The Who 

No one knows what it´s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it´s like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They aren´t as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That´s never free

No one knows what it´s like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That´s never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

And if I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
And if I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what it´s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

I remember my father. I always will. I remember him the way he was. Alive. I've spent too much time in this last year dwelling on that awful day and not a time remembering the twenty years before that.

It's been a year; a long, painful year. I've learn the art of grief, of loss and pain. I've learnt how much it hurts when someone you love leaves you.

I've also learnt that welling on the bad parts isn't healthy. It isn't good for me to think of my father in those last awful moments. I need to think of him in all the moments before that, so from now on, I will.

I'm done with that. I'll remember my father's life, I won't dwell on his death. Because he is not gone, not really. He lives on in my heart and in my memories. He lives on in me.

Ruby Tuesday

Tonight, I embraced something I had slammed the door on.

In the almost a year (it'll be a year in three days) since my father died, I haven't been able to listen to "Ruby Tuesday" by the Rolling Stones, it just brings me to tears and makes me nauseous. I've listened to it a few times. Some (most) by accident, but occasionally on purpose--either to be sad or as trying to force myself over some invisible barrier.

Every time I listened to it, I had the same nauseous, tearful reaction. I suddenly hated what had always been one of my favorite songs. Not favorite in the way "November Rain" is, but certainly the most special song, because it represented my relationship with my dad.

For those few people reading this who don't know the story, I'll explain. I was born on a Tuesday in July, making my birthstone the ruby. I was also born on Mick Jagger's birthday and my dad was a huge Rolling Stones fan. So, almost immediately, my dad christened me his 'little Ruby Tuesday'.

He had other nicknames for me. He never called me Michelle unless I was trouble. Neither of my parents did, not liking full names as a rule and not be able to agree on an appropriate short form (it was a Mickey vs. Shelley war, thankfully neither side won), so they just came up with nicknames for me.

My mom went the sappy route, Princess, Angel, Apple of her Eye, that sort of thing. My father, on the other hand, wasn't the mushy type, so he developed his own pet names for me.

They changed multiple times. Beansprout, Goose, Googlehead, to name a few, all came and went, and Chucklehead was the last he ever used. But being his 'Little Ruby Tuesday' was different, it was a pet name he only used on rare special occasions. It was very special.

The song was very special to us. We often listened to it together. We danced to it together, live, one of the highlights of my life. One of the most precious moments--even more precious now. We always said that it would be the song for the father/daughter dance when I got married.

So, naturally, after he died, the song became painful. It represented in my mind, everything I had lost. I was nobody's "little Ruby Tuesday" any more. We'd never share that father/daughter dance. So I began to hate the song that I had always loved.

Tonight, I realized that it was the wrong attitude to have, listening to the song and hating it for representing all that I lost. Instead, for the first time since he died, I listened to it and I thought of the good things.

The song will always be a link to my dad. To the wonderful memories that we shared. If I let myself, I can listen to it and remember the good times, remember how much I loved him and how much he loved me.

He's gone. Nothing's going to change that. Nothing's going to bring him back, no matter how much I might want to. But, the memories aren't gone. The connections to him, they're still with me. I can think about them and remember him. Memories aren't as good as the real thing, but they're still precious.

Ruby Tuesday can help me remember. I think it'll always hurt a lot, but I'd rather the think of the positive. I'd rather listen to the song and remember the wonderful, crazy person that my dad was.

Ruby Tuesday
By The Rolling Stones

She would never say where she came from
Yesterday don't matter if it's gone
While the sun is bright or
In the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and go
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change with ev'ry new day
Still I'm gonna miss you

Don't question why she needs to be so free
She'll tell you it's the only way to be
She just can't be chained to a
Life where nothing's gained and nothing's lost at such a cost
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change...

"There's no time to lose"
I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind
Ain't life unkind?
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?
When you change...

What I realized tonight is that I'll always be my father's "little Ruby Tuesday" even if he's not here to tell me so.

Love

"There comes a point where you just love someone. Not because they're good or bad, or anything really. You just love them. It doesn't mean you'll be together forever. It doesn't mean you won't hurt each other. It just means you love them. Sometimes in spite of who they are and sometimes because of who they are. And you know that they love you, sometimes becayse of who you are, and sometimes in spite of it."- from "Incubus Dreams", Laurell K. Hamilton, pg 383-384

Above is a quote from a book from one of my favourite series', but that's not why I posted it. I posted it because it's a great quote. I think it sums things up pretty nicely.

I've never been in love of the romantic sense. Maybe thought I might be, maybe even something in the same ballpark, but never real love. I've never been truly in love--I think I'd need a relationship that lasted more than a couple weeks for that.

However, I have loved people, of course. Lot's of people and the quote still has some relevance. Not with familial love, since you love your family from the moment they come into your life and you always will, but with friends and such. There certianly comes a point when you make an active choice to love someone and for all kinds of reason. Sometimes, just because they're there when you need them or because they've always been there for as long as you can remember.

I couldn't tell you the exact reason why I love any of my friends. I could tell you positive and negative's about each of them. But I couldn't pinpoint the exact reasons, I chose them as friends, why they each have their own place in my heart. I couldn't even tell you the moment that I made the choice to love them, but it no longer matters. What matters is that I do love them.

I like to think it was because I chosen to love these people and they were chosen to love me. That somewhere along the line, our lives were meant to cross. That in the grand scheme of thing, I have something to learn from them. Or something they have to learn from me. Love is what helps us grow as people.

Will I still love all these people in twenty years? Maybe, maybe not. I know that already there are people who have passed out of my life, who were once really important to me. Maybe in twenty years, some of the people I love now will only be faces in a photo albulm. There's no guarentee how long any of us are going to be here. Life doesn't come with guarentees.

But even if they aren't going to be in my life forever, they're still so precious to me now. I wouldn't give up a moment with any of my friends and I'm so glad I got the chance to have them in my life, that I got to love them.

Besides, even if the friendships don't last forever a part of the love lingers. You keep a place in your heart for everyone you loved at one point in you life, even if it's only a tiny little corner that you don't look in very often.

Love is still love. No matter why you love someone or for how long, it's still love.

Ok, I'm done being sappy, but I still love the quote.

Self-Awareness

So it was an intresting weekend and I made a view observations about myself and the world around me. Which are as follows:

You don't know what you've got until it's gone. You never really appreciate something (or someone) fully until you've lost it or thrown in away. You can have something and not really appreciate and then decide you don't wnat it. But once it's gone, you realize how special it was and try to get it back and it's a whole lot more difficult the second time around.

I'm selfish. I want what I want and Hell or high water I mean to get it. No matter who I hurt. Well, that's not true. I do draw the line at deliberately going after someone else's boyfriend, at least as long as I can put the face on the girlfriend. If I know a guy has a girlfriend, but I've never met her, that's harder, look at the golf tournament party. But, other than that, I really don't take other people's feeling into consideration as much as I should.

Big familes and small towns suck. Or at least, they're not conductive to privacy. It's nearly impossible to try and conduct a relationship (or anything) quietly, without speculation and interference when you have either of the above and when you have both, forget about it.

What goes around, comes around. For years, I've teased Taela about the hangovers that she gets and I don't. Well, I got my own back this morning. God, was I hung over. It was terrible. I realized that the main reason I didn't get a hangover, was because usually I puke my guts out that night, so there's nothing in my system the next day. I think I prefer that method, actually.

I need to work out. It's pathetic how out of shape I am. One little snowmobile ride has me aching all over. I used to go out every weekend when I was small and I don't remember it hurting like this. But back then I was a lot more fit. I really do need to get in shape, maybe there's a plus in going for an outdoorsy guy.

Opposites can attract. Maybe you don't have to have a lot in common for their to be a spark. As long as a guy treats you well and you enjoy his company, maybe that's enough. Maybe you can learn to compromise on the rest.

There are a few other lessons that came to me this weekend, but I've said enough realistic things, we don't need to get into any more of my bad traits or short comings. Nor do I really want to talk about something that I'm not sure is anything yet, so no specifics. They might come later, but I don't want to jinx myself.

Weekend Plans

So I'm going to a party on Saterday. James' birthday party. Yeah, I know, but it might be fun. It's a big thing, lot's of people of all ages since his stepmom and brother also have birthdays around then. Mom really wants to go.

There'll be a lot of people there. Which doesn't always work so well for me, but... If I stay completely sober, maybe nothing'll happen. I mean, I am capable of keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes.

It's weird, hearing some of the people who were going to be there, my reaction wasn't what I thought it would be. Instead of the reaction I had been counting on, instead I was freaked out by something else. I don't really care about meeting Jesse's girlfriend, maybe I'll even like her. No, it was something else that freaked me out.

I have to deal with my issues and I think the best way to do that is by not thinking about them. When I think about things I tend to blow them out of proportion. So if I don't let think about it, then it'll all be okay. Right?

It's kind of cool that I actually have plans, it'll get Mom off my back. She nags me for not getting out more--like to a party last week. She thinks I should socialiize more often, even if that's totally not my think. You know mothers.

It's not that I don't like to get out. I do, with my group of friends. I'm not one for mixing with new groups. I love hanging with the guys or with Meg or Taela. That's great, but new people? I don't mind it, but I'd rather have my old familiar group. You know? Comfort zones and all that.

The 19th

A while ago, the idea of doing something to mark the anniversary came up. This was actually brought up by several different people, both friends and family.

I liked the idea. My dad was always the life of every party. He spent his life having fun, it's the way he should be remembered. I mean, that's what we did after the memorial, celebrated his life the way he lived it.

So, the plan was to do something on the 19th. I hate the word party, more of a gathering. A tribute of sorts. I thought it was a nice idea, so did anyone I mentioned it to. It was definitely my dad's kind of thing.

At first, my mom seemed to like the idea, then she was venehmantly opposed to it. She declared that it was creepy. I'm used to my mom blowing hot and cold, so I backed off.

But then, I decided that even if she didn't want to do something with his friends, it didn't mean I couldn't do something with mine. So I decided that I would still do something, just something small. Have some friends over, drink in his memory, listen to some classic rock, that sort of thing. I mean, I figured she wouldn't object to that.

So, that was going to be the plan. Then I found out that David had mentioned the idea to others of Dad's friends, which means that everyone'll be aware of it in a few days since new travels fast. I also mentioned that I had previously mentioned it to Tonya, who'd told her dad. Mom seemed to reconsider the idea, so it's back on, I guess.

Is it really a weird idea? I mean, a little unconventional, but my dad was unconventional. He'd like to do something to celebrate his life because he was all about living it to the fullest.

Happy Birthday

February 3rd. Usually a happy day for me. After all, it's the day both my father and grandfather were born. Birthdays are always happy occassions. Especially in our family. We like celebrations.

I keep thinking about the February 3rd that would have been if my dad were here. I would have gotten up and given him a big birthday hug. Tonight he would have gotten his birthday presents, I probably would have bought him a shot glass for his collection and then something else, something cool.

We would have had steak for dinner, since it was his favourite. Birthdays around here follow the same pattern. Daddy got steak and all the fixings and a cherry chip cake. Mom gets KFC and Devil's food cake. I get pizza and white cake.

I would have baked his birthday cake like I had every year since I was old enough. Always the same cake. Cherry chip with vanilla icing and cherry pie filling in the middle and some sort of decoration on the top. Last year it was a football themed cake, complete with these disgusting sugar footballs.

I don't know what theme I would have gone with this year. I do know that tomorrow he'd go party with his friends. Or that they would have invaded our house like they had a lot of weekends, especially right after his birthday.

This is superbowl weekend too, so that would have guarenteed visiters on Sunday since Superbowl means party. It would have been a fun day, a fun weekend.

Instead, I'm filled with deep sadness, natuarally. I just miss him so much. He should be here today of all days. We shouldn't be doing this without him.

I keep thinking about last year at this time. We had celebrated his birthday on the Sunday, the first, because he wanted to do the Superbowl thing. We had cake and dinner and junk food and we watched the big game together. He was cheering for Carolina, I was cheerign for New England, so I gave him a hard time when New England won.

Then, on his actual birthday, I got up and took him for lunch before I went to work. We went to Swiss Chalet. Then, he took me to work. I got to go home early and we spent the evening together before my mother came home.

It was a nice day. Birthdays around here always were. So many memories of birthdays past. My life really was filled with joy and laughter and good memories. The problem is, that sometimes the sweet memories sting more than the bitter.

It's hard not to hurt when I think of what today might have been. It's even harder not to fall apart. I miss him so much. If only he were here....

Happy birthday, Daddy, whereever you are.

February

It's February. My least favourite month of the year. I've always hated February, it's just so bleary and depressing.

Last year, February took on a whole new horrible meaning for me. It's a month that will always remind me of my father. After all, he was both born and died in February.

This year, February represents the last lag in the morning cycle. I've faced every other first and now I have to conquer this, the first February. The only firsts I have left are ahead of me.

In two days it'll be what would have been my dad's birthday. Then that weekend is superbowl Sunday, when we would have celebrated his birthday (since he loved football so much). Then, two weeks later it'll have been an entire year since my life fell apart.

The closer the 21st gets, the harder it is to cope. I just feel like I'm going to fall apart. It's just so much harder than I thought it would be. I don't know, I guess I always imagined that after almost a year it would be a little easier, that I would have begun to move on.

No, it still hurts as much it always did. I still miss him like crazy. I'm still so angry that he's gone. I just want my old life back, the one I had a year ago.

But since I can't have that, then I want February to be over already. I want to have gotten through the hard days and be able to say that I survived. I just want it to all be over.