Hands

Repost from Russisms.com original date May 1 2009:

I was watching the powerpoint I put together for my dad's funeral today, which I rarely do. I can't watch most of it. I seem to hurt myself crying, which is actually funny that my insides are so fragile! I was thinking about the day he died, about how it was so hard to let go of his hands. I was thinking about how much he had done with his hands. How a lifetime, 50 years of pictures showed how much one person had accomplished with his hands. How he had learned to use them as a baby, how he had held his mother, and his blankets and toys. How they helped stabilize him to sit and walk and crawl. I don't know how much it hurts my grandma, but I can imagine, to loose those hands, that boy. 50 years of someone just gone. I think my dad worked his hearts wishes out with his hands. How many tools have been held by those hands? Pencils? How much money had they exchanged? The animals he loved? Babies? I barely remember the last time he touched me. I wish I had it on video, I could know for sure, and replay it. He walked my mother and me down the isle with those hands. He carried me when I was hurt. He threw them up in the air so many times when he was frustrated or angry. Many steering wheels he had turned, and socks put on. Cans of soda, and guns. There is a letter I wrote the week he died, I put it there where his hand touches it where it lays in the coffin. He knows what it says without reading it. I believe he has always known. I never truly told him though what it says. I always meant to. I couldn't let go of his hands, the day he died. He was gone, already. Hands were still soft, and warm enough for me to think he was still asleep. Those hands that had held me so many times. I still feel like I need them to guide me. I hate not knowing what to do without him. Knowing what he would do, but I can not. I hate knowing he wont touch anything again in this life. That his last fingerprints still linger on things. That it will be years till I see him again. Till I hold those hands again.

"Please let me know where you are" (repost from Russisms.com)

Repost from Russisms.com original date April 4, 2009

So last night we went to a presentation honoring local organ and tissue donors. I knew it would be hard to sit through. I knew what it would be like. Sad. It's the oddest thing to sit with a couple hundred other people who have also lost someone. Kinda like you feel as you stand in the cemetary near a fresh grave. You know that there is a family somewhere else that has just lost someone, and feeling just like I do.




A lady spoke last night who had lost her daughter in a car accident about 11 years ago. She said many things that touched me, but one of the things I remember the most was that people around you have about one month's patience for you to greive and then they (not meaning to) want you to move through it and get over it. This is a little how I feel, afraid to be upset still. Afraid to be a burden on the people around me. I have to say, I have 29 years of loving my dad, needing him inside me, and I can't let go that easy. When I was alone, he and my mom where there. He rescued me and my broke down vehicle so many times. He said to me, "please, just let me know where you are, so I can come find you" "call me if you need me." Not less than a week before he died, "call me if you need me." How do you know that that person is there for so long, and then one day, he is gone. And I can't call him. There isn't one time I didn't call him when he didn't answer. One time I needed him and he didn't come. How do you pack all that missing someone, loving someone, saying goodbye into about a month? Especially when you aren't very good at expressing how you feel anyway?



A man has recieved my dad's eyes. A man that could not see. Now he can see. It's funny. My mom was teasing last night about how many times dad had crap in his eye and he had to go get it removed. If you knew dad longer than a few weeks you knew him to periodically have a funny patch over his eye, usually with an eyeball drawn on it. My mom said, "if only this man knew that eyeballs almost did not make it!" And they did. he has given sight to someone else. Something someone had to die for. But dad would have given almost anyone the shirt off of his back. God, I miss him. I am so happy that part of him went to help someone else. I know my dad is happy about that too. His final way to help out someone. I think about the last few days before he died and there are so many things that come to mind. Things that I am sure other people who were with him remember as those last moments too. A laugh. A smile. A joke.



I know that there is a litiny of things that people say to try and make you feel better. Things like "he is still around.....He knows how much you love him......You will see him again." And I appreciate the love and support of the people around me. BUT I do wish I could call him. 29 years. Do I have to wait 50 plus years to see him again? I guess we will see, but in the mean time, "Dad, are you okay? Where are you so I can find you?" I will never stop asking.

Festival of Trees Christmas Tree (repost from Russisms.com)

Repost from Russisms.com original date October 21st 2008:

We found out today that we can go ahead and do the shotgun shell christmas tree!! This will be a tree honoring my dad from the family and friends. Now it sounds weird BUT anyone that knows my mom, KNOWS that she can do great stuff with gingerbread. The last few years she has donated a christmas gingerbread creation to the Festival for auction and been on the news etc.. There have been dragons and wizards, countless houses, castles and cabins-and even a sailing ship. Anyone that knows my dad knows that he likes to collect stuff. When we started cleaning out his "gun" room we found B O X E S of empty shotgun shells that he planned on reloading and reusing. Mom came up with a genious idea a while ago and decided we can cut the shells, and feather out the ends, and put them together to make branches-and eventually a tree. I will be posting pics of this happening as we do it.




The Festival of Trees is held every year around the first week of December. All and I mean ALL of the proceeds go to the Primary Medical Childrens Center here in Salt Lake City. There are tons of things to see and now there is stuff to do-especially for kids. Even Santa comes. There are things to buy, make and eat. What happens is there is an auction that is held early in the week, by invitation only-where people come to buy the trees etc. The trees stay for display and then go home to the people that paid for them. In some cases the trees are also decorated with stuff under the tree. I believe we will be letting people (you guys) know that we plan to do this and would love for anyone and everyone to participate. Tenatively we would need everything from ideas of stuff to go on and under the tree to money or newly purchased things to decorate the tree and put under the tree. We probably could even use some help. The next few days will be some serious finalizing of what we plan to do. We are excited because this is the first time we have done a tree AND there has never been a tree like this!! (At least that's what the Festival of Trees lady says.)



This last few months has been hard on us, our neighbors, friends and family around us. We are hoping that including ourselves and extending the offer to everyone else might help fill a void that some of us are feeling. There is a need to remember and honor-and through the Festival, we also help not only ourselves we help others-especially children. I would love for people to see how much we loved my dad through the time and effort that it took us to create something that he would find so funny and great- that is after he got over being mad about us cutting up all his shotgun shells! I will be letting you all know how and and exactly what there would be to do or donate. I will also be letting you all know the exact times etc of the Festival (there is a link on the webpage that says our tree) so you can take your families and enjoy this awesome event, and enjoy OUR tree. Thanks for reading-check back for more!

Today it's been three months (a repost from Russisms.com)

Original post date was October 16 2008 on Russisms.com:

Today it's been three months since Dad died. It seems like we will forever mark our years with the date and time of his death.Every occasion will be timed up against that day. People say it gets easier. I don't know. It is like loosing your legs-loosing someone who was so crucial and important in your life. Anything was possible, going through the worst things or the best things, if He was here. We learn to adapt. And we go on. Kindness from people who knew and cared about him go on. We appreciate every ounce of it all. Still it is hard to see his things. The last things he touched. With his hands.... To still smell the smell of him on things that he wore. It seems so long until we will meet again. It helps to remember him. To talk about him. To love him still. To be inspired by the things he could do. To think about the words he said and meant. I cry everyday. I miss him so much.

The stupid, fat, lazy cow!

So, we have at least once a year had to battle Glen's ex wife in court. Usually it costs us thousands. Apparently this year is no different except she went about it a little different. They have a standard divorce agreement that allows Glen to claim their child as an exemption on the odd numbered years as long as he is current on child support, which he is current (and we have plenty of proof.) SO the ex goes and files her taxes before Glen, claiming their child for 2009. Last I checked 2009 is an odd numbered year, and Glen was current on his child support and should have been able to claim the child per their divorce agreement. Now we understand that the IRS doesn't practice family law, and apparently we have to have a form filled out and signed by the ex wife releasing the child as her credit. We found out about this a little too late.....  :(
I am hoping there is something we can do. I am calling the attorney asap, poor guy, to see if we have any recourse. I have found that I can't sleep, and dont want to eat, and I am just angry and stressed out to no other. I feel almost as bad as I did the week my dad died. Glen's ex has ruined every holiday, birthday, vacation, important event-including the week my dad died and his funeral, the birth of our baby, regular old weekends etc. etc. If she can she seems to poke her big fat sausage finger in and just mess everything up. She doesnt play by the rules. She doesnt care if she hurts their child or Glen or anyone else. She steals from her work, she lies, she is lazy. She wont go to the child's parent teacher conference. She isnt home to supervise the child. She lets an expensive cell phone (bill-that she shouldnt have since she is "so destitute and cant afford anything") babysit the kid, and has since he was 8 or 9. She calls Glen's first shirt and lies when she doesnt get her way. In 2008 she tried to up and leave with the kid to Alaska without Glen's approval or even hardly knowledge. She talks mean to Glen and to the kid. I have overheard her screaming at both of them, and calling them names. She is filing bankruptcy, but yet just bought a brand new car. She doesnt get kid new clothes, he looks homeless most the time. Their house is a disgusting rat hole with only paths that lead through the garbage, junk, and dirty clothes. The kitchen is piled with stuff and junk on the table and counter tops. She is just a pig. She lets the kid do whatever he wants. She is more concerned with being his friend than a mother. And that's only the tip of the iceburg...I have run out of time to bitch about her.

Still Hurting

Mom says she hangs up pictures of you because she doesnt want to forget you, and I feel that way too, it's just....just so painful for some reason. I waiver between the fear of forgetting and the fear of hurting so bad I can hardly breath. I look at pictures of you and just the thought of your hand on my shoulder just cuts me so deep. The last thing I touched on you was your hand. You didnt feel it. You werent there, well maybe you were there watching us say goodbye, but you didnt feel me. In fact during that moment it was David that was touching me...In fact I think if he hadnt been touching me I would have still tried to climb into the coffin with you. If he hadnt been touching me I would have probably would have just been screaming with frustration and greif. I put a little gold frog under you hand. Do you know that. I remember the last time you touched me with that hand. And I go through all our stuff, the stuff you touched with those hands....and I feel you. I know your work, and your life lives on throught the stuff you touched with your hands.....and I want you to hold me again....I would give almost anything for you to touch me again, with just one hand, one finger. For me to feel some warmth from you. I have empty picture frames ready for pictures of you. Maybe mom is right and I need to put up those pictures of you. I need you to help me know what to do. I need you to help me know what is right. There is nobody like you. And nobody does for me what you do. Some try. And I do love them for it, but none will be my daddy. My dad. In the darkest hours of my life you were there. You said nothing sometimes. But you were there. It was good enought that you were just in the house. In the lightest brightest moments of my life you were there. You always knew I could do it. At least you always let me know that. If you doubted me it was behind closed doors. I felt your disappointment in me but you were never condescending. I know you are busy. Justin says you are taking care of the birds. And maybe I am not supposed to feel you right now, I know maybe I am supposed to be learning something or doing something different right now. And I hope that one day....I will feel you. That we can talk, and I can look in your eyes, and I can say everything I need to say, or hear everything I need to hear. But for now, this moment I am struggling to find peace in it all, and a safe place, and I am wishing that you were here....somewhere working, talking, listening to the radio, driving a truck or a tractor. Somewhere where you were able to pick up the phone, or put your arm around me. I have to go do laundry now, and clean the bathroom, and figure out how to do somethings I would normally ask you how to do. I hope with all my heart you are happy, and that you are here somewhere and it is just not time for me to feel you. I hope soon I can have some peace and that soon I can dream another dream that doesnt involve daddy's leaving their little girls-even be it unwillingly. I miss you. I miss you and I love you.

Pieces

This last week my mom sold the Chevelle. This is a car that my dad bought in high school, let my mom drive when they were dating, brought me home from the hospital in. To my mom, I guess it has some great memories, but for me it has none. I do not remember riding in this car at all. This car has been parked in a field or driveway my whole life-under a tarp. The only thing I do remember is how my dad used to talk about it. He had a manual or a magazine-that one could order car parts out of. He had stuff written down, and circled. He would say, if we asked him what he wanted for christmas or his birthday, that he wanted this (he pointing to something in that book-which was always a few hundred if not thousand dollars....) The emotional part of this car came for me on an evening a few days before my mom sold it. We had no info about this car. Knew almost nothing of its worth now, as it sits, or if it had been in good condition. I jumped on the world wide web and surfed around. I found a plethera of cars, the same make, same model, the same options-as our Chevelle. Only, they were in prisine condition and worth 20, 30, 40, and yes even 50 something GRAND. Yes grand. I had just spent an afternoon crawling around, under and through our car to get pictures. On the web I found a Chevelle that had the same everything. The same seats, door handles, head lights, AC option, everything. The car on the web worth 30 grand. Ours, well, it was rusted, paint faded, neglected. Neglected. And the momentous realization hit me. I could not breath. White hot tears, an epiphany and not in a good way. This car, our Chevelle, was my dad's failure. I realized while he was busy doing all of these other things-the jeeps especially, the Chevelle had been neglected. I didn't understand it. I still do not. For some reason my dad, the person who had been so careful about guns, and little babies, and dogs, had left this car-this car that was valuble out in the weather to rot. I am confused. I know how he spent his time. I do not judge how he spent his time. He did spend plenty of it helping others and being with others that he enjoyed and enjoyed him. But this night I realized how overwhelmed he must have been with his decision to for go this car. To let it wait. AND I also realized how horrible it might have been to have to look at it everyday as he came and went from his house. To know he didnt have the means or the time to fix it up. He was overwhelmed. My heart broke a little bit, for my dad and the Chevelle, and all the other things I believe he really wanted to do but could not. So there are some pieces. And I drove by Big O Tires today, and saw the old Amos Rents (or anus grunts as dad used to say) work truck. It was painted with a nice Big O Tires logo, and for some reason it makes me very happy, and I cry, because for some reason it feels like there are some people who can make those broken pieces of my heart, those broken pieces of my dad, better. My mom sewed new apholstry in that old truck, and Garth has taken it and uses that truck, and has made it nice again. New again, given it a purpose again. And the Chevelle? I felt the same way the night the guys loaded it up on the trailer. It was going to a good home. A nice shop, where someone was going to fix it up, and enjoy it, and hopefully love it. And I hope one day, I get to see that car in all it's glory. And someone will have taken that big piece that was broken and mended it. Made it right. For me, for my dad. He could just not do it all. I understand. Same with the purple jeep. Someone is taking care of that thing, driving it, loving it. And hopefully the same for the race jeep, which is in our storage shed. To me, that was one of the greatest creations my dad had made with his hands, and his time. And this realization of what happened with the Chevelle has only made me realize how glad I am to have that jeep. A trophy of his dreams. Dreams that did come true. And although it is others that are putting together the things that dad could not do, I don't mind. He did so much for us, for others, I hope he doesn't mind that others are finishing his work. I hope that he isn't overwhelmed anymore. That he is finding peace. He had a hard time asking for help here in this life. I hope those guys enjoy the car. I look forward to seeing it one day, that big, dumb, 40 year old, orange piece of my dad that made me cry so hard that night....good luck guys. Huck a few wrenches for Russ...