25 May 2005


My father died yesterday.

It was unexpected, and I've done nothing but cry. I don't know what to do. He told me last week, before his operation, if anything were to happen I was to take care of things. And now, my sisters Kathy & Marge are in Florida dealing with all the arrangements, my mom, the dogs, and I'm stuck until I can get down there, without anything to do, without any way to make things right. Because nothing is right. My father is dead.

Dad was the strongest man I have ever known. Not just physically, which he was, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. He could do anything. Seriously. And if he couldn't he'd not only find out how to, but how to improve upon it.

I gained my love of learning, research, debate and tact, as well at tactic, from him.
He taught me to always question, always try harder, and always look for more.
He taught me to never follow the crowd, and always be a leader, even if its only for yourself.
He taught me to believe in God, and know that we are but a small part of this world.
He taught me the value of romance by always doing that little extra special, unexpected thing for my mom...whether it was just a note to say I love you, a diamond ring, or as she has become weaker, doing her makeup, it was always about showing her that she was the love of his life.
He taught me the value of conditional love.

My father is dead. I'm passed the crying. I'm passed the first step of anger. Now I'm in a daze. I can't believe it. When ever I've ever felt confused, or frightened, or sad, I'd call Dad. He'd either give me sound advice (whether I wanted it or not) or a huge hug.

"Make me proud of you kid," he'd say. "Make yourself proud of you."
Tail-end Charlie...that was his nickname for me...the eighth child...the baby...the one he said was more like him than any other. I'm proud to be like him. He was a wonderful, smart man. A loving father. A devoted husband. I can't believe he's not here...though I'm sure he's in Heaven, playing with the dogs, playing golf or fishing with Jesus...in his underwear.

Te Amo. Ich libe dich. Auf Wiedersehen.

12 May 2005


I hate moving. I've had to do it far too many times in the past few years. The boxes, the purging of the items you realize you really don't need. The memories of those things you just can't part with. It's huge. It's stressful. And I hate it. And yet...I'm moving on to something bigger & better than I've possibly ever had. And that's exciting. That's the thrill of it all. Every move is another opportunity to start over. To Change. To Grow. And this move is certainly no exception. I'm going to moving into a house we own. Ours. No more landlords. No more asking for permission. Ours. I home that is our own doing. Our new life together. A more solid life for Kaitlyn. That's exciting. That's the thrill of the unknown. A home where I can entertain our friends. Where new memories will be made. Where I can walk around a safe neighbourhood with Kaitlyn, play games in our backyard, and create the sewing/crafting/dance room I always wanted. A place where I can have guest come and stay. A home where we can truly grown.

That realization give me the motivation to get back to work on the endless boxes that are clogging the living room of the apartment right now. I can face the cardboard jungle once more.

09 May 2005


Mother's Day, that illusive day of the year in which mother's everywhere are supposed to be honoured, pampered, and generally appreciated, arrived again yesterday. I was treated to breakfast in bed by my adorable daughter who surprised the heck out of me with not only the ability to create such a good meal, but the deliciousness of it. (Chocolate pancakes, with a side of bacon, tea and milk!) I was amazed that this, my little girl, really isn't a little girl anymore. She is capable of cooking an original meal, serving it up, and cleaning up the mess to boot. When did this happen??

The afternoon was spent oohing & aahing & discussing the Degas sculpture exhibit at the MAM. It was wonderful, though my favourite part was actually "over-listening" to other people's commentary. (My favourite: "Why would a sculpture of a naked woman washing her armpit be art?") We (Paul, Kaitlyn & I) then wandered aimlessly along the waterfront of Lake Michigan, enjoying the warm sun and cool breezes, watching the sailboats on the lake, and the multitude of beautiful kites overhead. Kaitlyn built me my own castle in the sand (complete with a peasant village nearby) and reminded me that part of her is, yet, still a little girl...and this made me happy in her innocence. Paul & I talked about the realities that are happening in our life, and how I have only known empty promises in the past. And I realized just how deeply he loves me. The reality of your families love is enough to carry you through any day. I didn't get gifts. I wasn't overly pampered. Absolutely no money was spent. But it was a day that I was proud to say I am a mom.

I also had to think of my own mother, who sadly has taken up new residence in a "nursing home facility" down in Florida. Mom isn't well...there are days she can't even feed herself. But dad is having a seriously dangerous surgery soon, and is no longer capable to care for her. Mom refused to leave Florida, dad, the dogs, etc. So this is how things are for now. And it hurts me deeply that I can't be there, that I can't do anything but send my love via cards and the phone lines. Why does life switch from your mother taking care of you to you taking care of your mother. And because they do...because they have...because they love...EVERY mother deserves to be spoiled, pampered, and most importantly, adored.

02 May 2005


This weekend while sitting quietly at church, watching some little kids make their First Communion, I was struck with the realization of just how deeply my faith goes. That I'm no longer a "Closet Catholic". That I'm not nervous to say "I go to church every week", because people might criticize me. That I have re-found a relationship with God. That I believe in prayer. That I believe in living a decent life. I'm not the type to say "my religion is right and yours is wrong", I just believe faith is faith...in the Higher Power. In treating people with respect. In living that faith. I haven't always been this way...in fact I have done some things I'm not intrinsically proud of. But I'm comfortable with knowing I've tried to right my wrongs....whether always accepted or not. And I've found a comfort in being me. And a part of me is Christian.