Things happen for a reason.

That's what they always tell me.

Am I writing this blog for a reason?

Maybe....maybe some where, somehow, someone will read it and they'll think to themselves "well shit, it could be worse" or "If someone else can do it, well then so can I" or even simply

"I'm not alone".

But, maybe it's just for me. A place to put my thoughts and my feelings.

It could just be my outlet...a place for my twisted little brain to vent all of the thoughts and emotions that come with this virus and life in general.

Or maybe it's just simply my own little self pity party.

Maybe it's a little bit of all 3.

No matter how you view this blog....when the day is done and the power button is turned off,
I've written this blog for me....

in the peace and quiet of this old building...

Here is honesty.


I got a call from my sister the other day telling me there is a reason that my Father has refused to except medical treatment for the past 2 years. A reason for him to be 89 pounds and have constant pneumonia.

He has cancer and has had it for a very long time. He's known it.

What strikes me odd is that the tone in her voice was almost thankful and mournful all at the same time.

Thankful I think because they can't say that her not forcing him into medical treatment was some kind elderly abuse.

Mournful because he was her Dad and he's dieing and she loves him.

When I first listened to her message on my machine I thought to myself "Cancer. Yes he has cancer. He's dieing....but he has been dieing....what is it that I feel?".

It took me a day and a half to call her back.

Still I couldn't figure out what it is that I feel.

But tonight.....sitting alone, I think I know what is that I feel.

A week ago it was disconnection. He was dieing and she was scared of loosing him and then being blamed for his death. And she was so sad that her Dad was dieing.

But to me he was already gone.

22 some odd years it took me to find him and when I did the man that I found was a skeleton of the man that was my father.

You see, my Father was strong and proud....and he stood tall.

The man in front of me then was a withered old drunk who wanted to take his long lost daughter to the bar for a "Glad to see ya again drink". This man that I found 22 years later confused me as to why I would ever have respected or feared him.

But then that's the problem isn't it? .....

There was a line in the sand when I was a child.

On one side was the "Before it happened" time.

A beautiful family. 2 boys and 3 girls. Dad was as good of a Father as any Father before him. Provided for his family, respected by his community, politically empowered....an A-number- one man.

And I loved him.

Then it happened and it happened again. And he couldn't protect me and he could not let it harm the man that he was. So he forgot and pretended it didn't happen.

But then his little girl stepped over the line in the sand.

When I was done running and came back home .... they where gone. I was 13 when I left. 15 when I went home.....and I was 33 when I found them again.

To this day I don't believe that they ever looked.

What is it that I feel?

Today I mourn for the man who chose not to protect his daughter. A coward who hid himself from the truth.

Today I mourn the man who found his hiding place in a bottle.

Today I mourn the man who nick named me pumpkin and taught me how to swim.

Who held my hand and made booboo's better. Who looked at me with pride in eye's as we played ball. The man who built a balance beam in the back yard for his daughters....

Once upon a time I had a Dad......and he made me strong.

I guess I better not write his eulogy.