This is almost too personal to blog, but I figure there might be others out there who, like me, are missing their fathers as this weekend approaches.
We had some lovely wicked storms here. Lots and lots of downpour, big boomies too! I sorta drifted off to la la land on the sofa for a little bit; had the news on, and I just closed my eyes. Had a quick dream that I was telling someone that I could catch up with my father any time I wanted. All I had to do was go read his blog.
So I woke up really revved up to hop on the computer and read Daddy’s blog.
Daddy’s been dead since August 5th, 2002. He didn’t have a blog. I was really disappointed when I was awake enough to recall that.
I guess I think of him this time of year. The first Father’s Day without him was VERY weird. You don’t exactly get over it, but you come to a place where you don’t take every advertisement and mention of Father’s Day as a personal affront.
My father (really, the way he died) was a huge motivation to finally quit smoking. Somewhere in the sidebar of this blog there’s a ticker that’ll tell you how long it has been since I quit – 4 months and a few days as of this writing. I used Chantix to quit. The makers of Chantix give you access to a web site called GET QUIT, and you fill out some profile info there so they can customize daily emails that help you manage cravings and such. There is a place for one sentence of primary motivation on the profile page, and I put “Because my father died of lung cancer”.
The day before my father died, I had this strange feeling that he was hanging on and suffering to teach me a lesson, to provide me with a glimpse into what my future would be like if I didn’t quit. He suffered SO much.
He had some hallucinations because the cancer was breaking down his bones and his brain was being flooded with calcium. He told me he saw bugs crawling all over me and my mother, but not my brothers.
My mother and I were the smokers. My brothers, never.
So one night, I lied to him and told him I’d quit. Next morning, he left us.
I felt nothing but gratitude and relief at his passing. At last, deliverance from suffering; for him going through it, and for the rest of us watching it.
I took the next week or so off from work. I puttered in my garden and generally caught up on stuff at home (all that stuff that doesn’t get done because you are running to the hospital each night… because this might be the last night, you know…)
A few times that week, I would light a cigarette and the freakin’ smoke alarm in the house would go off. Fresh batteries, nothing else wrong with it. I finally ended up pulling the battery completely, thus placing myself in mortal (but thankfully silent) peril.
But it did make me smile that Daddy found a way to say, “Liar, liar, pants on fire” from the grave.