I'm Back, but with sad tidings...

Wow.

It's been a year since I last logged on.

Really?

Time flies when you're not having fun.

I was hoping to start this blog again with my usual dry wit and snarky observations, but fate stepped in and said, "Nope! You'll write about something depressing and sad. If you don't like it, tough noogies."

So here goes.

Dave's dad, Jimmy, passed away last week. We've been very busy with funeral details, estate details, and just everyday details that can't be delayed or ignored, as tempted as we were to forget about everything else.

Even as I write this I can't believe he's really gone. And it's not as if we didn't have time to prepare ourselves for the worst. He was sick for two years, and in a nursing home for 1 1/2 years. You figure that should have given us plenty of time to prepare.

But here's the thing: Just because you are prepared for something doesn't mean you are ready for it.

I've known Jimmy for half my life. I just assumed he would always be there, worrying about us living in the 'sticks, calling us in when bad weather was headed our way to make sure we were safe. He just always seemed to be a constant in our lives, an anchor, a person we could always call about home repairs questions, car repairs questions, or just to call and say hi.

We don't have that anymore.

Yes, I'm sad. We lived next door to Dave's parents for 5 years. In that time, he was always very generous, willing to help with anything, always greeted me with a smile and a bright, "Hey, Kath." I'm starting to realize I won't be hearing that greeting anymore, and it stinks.

I know I should be grateful that he's no longer in pain, a fact of life he dealt with for over 2 years. He's no longer forced to endure life from a nursing home bed, a situation he hated and would have avoided at all costs, had the choice been his to make. He couldn't speak, couldn't eat, and could only communicate with blinks and hand signals from one hand. It's not a quality of life he wanted.

I should be grateful that I had 17 years with him, to know him, to love him, to appreciate all his help, guidance, and support.

I should be.

But I'm not.

Instead, I find myself angry.

Angry that my daughter will never know her grandfather. Angry that she never had any real time with him, because all her visits were confined to running around outside the nursing home, while he sat nearby in a wheelchair . Angry that she will never go fishing with him, never enjoy the park with him, never be spoiled rotten by him. She will never hear his stories about winters in Indiana, about how he tricked her dad and her uncles by pretending to be Santa on the roof.

Angry that he never really got to hold her, love her, or spend quality time with her.

It's an odd feeling, being so angry at something I can't change or control.

I suppose it'll get easier as time goes by. I suppose we'll keep his memory alive by telling her the stories he himself would have told her.

I won't like it.

But I'll do it, for my daughter's sake, because she deserves to have good memories of him too, even if they're only in story-form.