Relief

I took last weekend off from doing the little show, things got extremely hard for me.  And not in the fun way.  I guess I should start with the dream I had.

Now I know some of you don't believe in a higher power, some of you do, and some of you think psychics are charlatans.  I; however, believe there is something out there beyond our understanding, and while some people claim to have some sort of powers, I do believe some people have gifts.  And I do believe that people who have passed do try to contact you.

When I initially started my anti-depressants, I didn't have one single dream I could remember.  I did go to my doctor's to have my dosage adjusted because I was becoming lethargic and numb.  And while I don't want to feel heartache and pain, I would rather feel that versus nothing.

After a few days of the lower dosage, I had a dream that if I hadn't woken up, I would have sworn it was real.  My sister and I were working in a Jack in a Box, but we were owners or a higher up person because we were dressed in business attire.  My sister came to my office and said, "He's here to talk to you."  I asked her if he had talked to her and she said yes.  I walked out into what looked like a hospital waiting room, but was still a Jack in the Box.  There was two men sitting together, laughing.  One older than the other.  I walked up to the younger and cleared my throat.  He looked at me, and it was like looking into my own eyes.  I knew it was my father.  I stuck my hand out and introduced myself.  He laughed and said, "I know who you are."  I said something like, well I haven't seen you in 17 years, I wasn't sure if you would.

He looked at me sternly and said we need to talk and I agreed.  He got up and started walking out the door.  He walked with a limp, but walked fast.  I walked out the door into what looked like a hospital, or maybe a hotel hallway.  My father had walked to a set of double doors that you would find in any major grocery store and I followed.  I was yelling, "Hey, I want answers, I want to know where you were."  We walked through the doors that looked like a parking lot full of green cars.  He turned and said "I was in the middle of nowhere."  Then turned and kept walking.  I again yelled, "I want answers, I want to know why you left."  He turned and kinda laughed and said, "Why does it matter, I'm dead."  I kind of stared at him and stuttered that I deserved to know.  He said, "Vanessa, you deserve a great deal, but you will never get it from me."  Then I woke up.  And when I woke up, I was more stunned that I had waken up in my own bed then the dream I had.

So a few days had passed and the box the coroner sent with my father's belongings arrived.  I wanted to tear it open right away, but couldn't bring myself to do it.  i got some reassurance from my twitter pals that it would be ok to wait until I was ready.  I made it to later that night.  The first thing i pulled out was a picture of a grade school class with five or six older men sitting in with them.  I finally see a picture of my father after 17 years of not really remembering what he looked like.  I handed the picture to Derek and asked him to pick out which one was my father.  I had to be sure I recognized the right man.  Derek said, this is him, you have the same eyes.  Looking at additional pictures, my father had a cane.  He had knee surgery that affected how he walked.  He was also in a wheel chair at some point.  It could be a coincidence that my father had a limp in my dream, but he didn't have one the last time I saw him, why would I give him one in my dream?

Also in the box was pictures of eagles, pictures of military ships, his wallet, photo albums, his hat, his vest, his bible, his jewelry box, a collection of military pins, five or six zippo lighters with eagles on them, an eagle belt buckle, a few random craft things he made.  And as I went through everything, I felt nothing.  I really felt like I just got a random stranger's things in the mail.  Essentially that is what it was.

Then there was his medical records from when he moved to Wyoming and going to the VA hospital there.  What I read was extremely heartbreaking.  My father was severely mentally and physically ill.  He was physically and mentally abused as a child and his father was an alcoholic.  There was mention of multiple suicide attempts, hearing a voice that told him to kill himself, was on drugs for everything from cholesterol to psychosis.  He did reference my sister and I a few times.  He initially said he was afraid of physically hurting us.  He also said he felt guilty for leaving us and losing contact.  He was most recently diagnosed with agoraphobia and wouldn't leave his house, even to go to the doctors.  He had a case worker that had to check on him every so often just to make sure he was alive and taking care of himself.  Which is how they found out he passed away.

At this point, I still hadn't found out how my father passed and the death certificate was not in the box.  I called the coroner and asked for her to either send it or call and tell me how he went.  With everything in his medical records, I was 99% sure that I was going to be told he overdosed and it wouldn't be an accident.

I received his death certificate in the mail yesterday.  I have never been so relieved to be wrong.  He had a heart attack.  And while it can be explained that he did it to himself due to his horrible diet and pack and a half a day habit, he didn't swallow a ton of pills or whatever form of suicide he could have chosen.  And while I am not happy that my father is dead, I am so damn happy I was wrong.

I also received a letter from the cemetery his ashes were buried in that every quarter they have a ceremony for soldiers who did not have a ceremony when they were buried.  They played taps, shot the guns, read his name, rank, and place of birth, and presented a flag in his honor.  That gave me some comfort because I felt guilty that no one was there when he was buried.  No one was there to show any love, grief, or support.  And while my father and I did not have any sort of relationship, he was still a human being who was in the Navy during Vietnam.  He deserved something.

And for the first time since this all started, I can breath without my chest hurting, I can almost fall asleep with no problem, and I don't start crying at the mention of him passing.  I have the biggest sense of relief that I can really stop searching, I really do know where he is, and he had feelings about leaving his family behind.

Vegas with Pride48

So last Friday, the 16th, I hopped in a cab and made my way to Tucson International Airport and made my way to Las Vegas to FINALLY meet a group of podcasters and a handful of listeners that I have only known by voice and picture.  Normally, I would have been scared shitless, but for some reason, I was actually pretty calm.  It may be that I was medicated, but I really think I was just so damn excited to see everyone, I didn't let my nerves get the best of me.  The flight from Phoenix to Vegas was BLAH!  Most of you know I am a fat girl, so I get hot easy.  Well that, and it's a side affect of one of the pills I take.  So I squeeze my ass into my seat, only to have a big boy squeeze into the seat next to me.  Oh yeah, no air-conditioning.  I was a sweaty mess by the time I got to the baggage area and looked for the darling Melissa.  She very graciously came and picked me up and dropped me back off at the airport.  Can I tell you what a gem she is?  Well she is one.  A pretty, sweet thing she is.

When we finally get to the Luxor, I start running into folks, new and familiar.  All within 10 minutes I saw the Foul Monkeys, That's What She Said, Ramble Redhead, and one Cocktail and Cream puff.  And this is also where Nessa got her first bong of juicy goodness!  A giant slushie drink with booze!  I was a toasted girl thanks to my BFF Waylon!

I got to my room, showered, and made my way to the podcasting suite where I met more familiar faces and voices.  And as i looked around the room, I counted the penises I had seen.  By the time the trip was over, I was up to six and one set of balls.  I know, my mother is so proud.

Friday night, I did a little Casina with some pals and went upstairs to listen to Ricky snore and have him knee me in the butt several times.  There was little sleep had that night, but I was fine with it.  The lack of sleep probably contributed to my drunken state on Saturday, that and the large amount of Vodka I consumed.  I couldn't feel my face at some point and it became the running joke.  People continuing to ask me the next day if I could feel my face.  After the shows, I spent some time with Christina and Nicole.  Teaching Nicole how to gamble.  It was tons of fun!

Sunday was a little sad because I had to say good bye to my roommates for the weekend.  But I will be making my way to Chicago soon to see them!  I promise!  But I had lots of shows to listen to and participate in.  I had a fabulous time.  Then I started my goodbyes and started doing what I do best....Cry.

I didn't do a show of my own due to lack of time on the schedule and I was really going as a fan.  But I was surprised and thankful that I got to make several guest appearances on other shows and the opening skit.  Can I tell you listener pals how proud and happy I was to be involved in Pride48 this year?  The enormity of it all, the very special, fabulous people I got to meet.  And with a group that large, you would think there would be some drama.  We really did all get along famously.  I really feel like I made some great friends and look forward to interacting with the group and having more people show up next year!  Oh yes listener pals, Pride48 2012 will be happening, and I will be in attendance.

I know that some of you want juicy gossip and want to know the details not available live on the stream.  But you know what they say, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

I do want to give an update on my health, mental and otherwise.  I went to the doctors on this past Friday and I have lost more weight and my blood pressure was normal.  Not high, not borderline high, but normal!  I have been borderline high for the last six years.  Also, my anti-depressant medication was adjusted so I am not so lethargic and unfocused.  I feel good.  I will say that the coroner did send my father's belongings to me that I am expecting any day.  I am anxious about it, but I think I will handle it considerably better then maybe a month ago.

Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho

So exciting news in Casa de Hello Nessa this week.  Derek found a job!  And not just any job; he will be joining the GEICO family as a Claims representative.  Because we love in the same home and are a couple, he couldn't work in my department, but he went through the hoops they call a hiring process and starts on November 7th.

I am very proud of him for putting in his effort and not settling for another retail job.  Not that that would be necessarily bad, but I know Derek was frustrated in his last position as a shift supervisor at Rite Aid.  GEICO will give him opportunities to use his smarts and to really get to a good place in the company.  It was great to see him walk into the house with his chest a little puffed out and him be proud of himself.  I am a very proud ex-wife right now.

After some victory laps around the living room, dancing around how he got a job, he went into the bedroom and grabbed my engagement ring and came out and said, "now that I can take care of you, will you marry me again?"  He was in his boxer shorts and had the biggest grin on his face.  How could I say no?

The best part of the interview process and Derek getting a job was the night before his final interview.  I take a tranquilizer for my anxiety and was passed out.  I get shaken by a very concerned Derek.  He sounds like he is on the verge of tears.  He says, "Baby, I was trimming my fringe (bangs) and thought my sides looked too long, so I took a razor and trimmed those.  Then I figured the back might look shaggy so i tried to trim it with the razor, but I can't see it.  Can you tell me if it looks ok?!"  I look up and see this:

I think I counted 13 patches where Derek had tried to trim his hair, but just shaved himself bald.  I was dopey because of the meds and couldn't get up to fix it right away.  So I tell him, DONT TOUCH YOUR HAIR, I will fix it in the morning.  I just kept telling him to not touch his hair until I passed back out.

At some point, Derek walked to Wal-Mart and bought clippers and attempted to fix his hair.  It looks ok for the most part.  Minus the 13 bald spots.  He told the manager who interviewed him that "his wife was a better cook than a hairdresser."  If I ever meet this man, I am going to have to pretend I fucked up Derek's head.  Butthead!

Sedated

After my last show, I thought getting some more things off my chest would make me feel better.  And it did, to an extent.  Monday Derek came to live here permanently, which has also helped.  I started swimming for about an hour almost every day, and that helped.  But the physical pain I was feeling, the inability to turn my brain off at night, and the random waves of anger and sadness.  I knew I wasn't "back to normal."  In fact, I was finding new things to stress and worry about.  I can't relax and let it go like I used to.  I was also worried that what if I did have a heart attack and they misdiagnosed me.  I was driving myself crazy.

I had a follow up appointment with Dr. Abraham, who will be my primary care physician.  He is a soft spoken man, bald, with a wild beard.  He was also wearing a bolo tie.  Something about him, I instantly liked and felt comfortable with.  I found out three things during this visit.  I lost five pounds in the last week, I am indeed 5'8" and not 5'6" as I always thought, and I have depression with a side of sever anxiety.  Oh, and I didn't have a heart attack.  My blood pressure was actually closer to normal than high.

We talked about my different option to handle my stuff and the doctor decided that Cymbolta with a side of Lorazapan would be best.  I take them both at night because I have a low tolerance to pills that make me sleepy. But I have found that if I sleep through the night, the day time isn't so difficult.  The doctor said it will take two weeks for my body to regulate.  I am trying to be patient, but I am so eager to feel normal, it's hard.  He did sign me out for two days a month in case I have bad reactions or just have bad days.  I won't use them, but it a comfort to know I won't lose my job because I am having mental issues.

My next step is to stick to the pills, stick to the swimming, and find a good therapist.  As much as I share with you all, I feel like I need someone who can show me tools that will help me with everything.  I am really working on me right now, and for the first time, I don't feel selfish about it.

In other news, Derek is here and hey we're living in sin.  Our divorce was final on September 1st.  We both have agreed that we want to remarry, I am just waiting for him to ask me.  He is trying so hard to be understanding with my break downs and is being tremendously supportive of me trying to be healthy physically and mentally.  This is a much more mature Derek.  I am proud of him for his efforts.  He is diligently looking for a job and keeps the house relatively clean.  He's taking care of me when I need it, and is giving me space when I need that.  I wish we didn't have to go through the last year, but I don't think I would appreciate him as much as I do if we hadn't.

Nothing too exciting this week, just really working on feeling better.  I want to be decent for pride48 in Vegas on the 15th.  I am super happy that I will get to see a bunch of people again, plus meet some new folks.  Put faces to the names.  I really can't wait!

Anxiety

I really thought I had a grasp on my father's death.  The more I tried not to think about it, the more it consumed every thought I had.  It got to the point where sleeping was hard to do and concentrating on anything was nearly impossible.

On Monday night, I felt ok.  Climbed into bed and was struck with a feeling of confusion and panic.  I took some deep breaths and told myself I would be okay and try to sleep.  I would doze off and my arm would jerk and I would go through the same cycle of trying to relax and go back to sleep.  With every little noise and every breath I took, I could not shake the feeling something was wrong with me.  Almost like a feeling that someone was watching me.  Then the pains started.  My chest got tight, I got shooting pains in my arms and legs.  I was freaking out.

Tuesday, I called in sick to work.  The lack of sleep and the constant feeling that I was on the verge of having a breakdown, I couldn't go to work like that.  So I tried watching TV, I tried playing around on the computer, I slept in tiny increments, but nothing solid.  I fell asleep that night pretty easy, probably because I was so tired from the night before.

Wednesday, I woke up and was having heat flashes, more pains in the arms and chest, shaky and nauseous.  I talked myself out of going to the hospital, I would go after work.  I don't want my new co-workers thinking I'm a wimp and already calling in after two months.  I get to work, log in, and start crying.  I couldn't stop.  I know I said at some point, I think I am freaking out.  I vaguely remember getting to the emergency room.  I do remember telling the lady inside I was having a heart attack and crying.  They put a bracelet on my wrist and asked me a million questions that I don't even remember.

I was taken to a room in the back where I got to wear a nice hospital gown and "watch" some NCIS show.  I couldn't stop crying.  Someone would come in and ask what has happened in the last few months and each nurse was surprised I hadn't been in sooner.  Then they called in the mental health manager.  She held my hand, reassured me I wasn't crazy, and I was normal.  Let me talk and cry it out.  She even gave me a hug, which I desperately needed.  She told me I am internalizing too much and it is ok to reach out to others for help.  Something I am not terribly good at.  I don't want people to feel sorry for me or pity me.  But I am realizing after several talks with my mom, that it is okay to reach out and have someone on my side.  I wish it wasn't so hard for me to do that.

After two hours of monitoring me to make sure I didn't have a heart attack, they gave me a prescription for an anti-anxiety medicine, gave me a booklet on grief, a phone number for grief counseling, and a note to skip work for another day.  The physical pains are subsiding a bit, I still feel a little weird, but I know I will be okay after taking some deep breaths and letting myself grieve my loss over again.

I am doing okay for right now.  I am mostly during the day, but when it gets dark and quiet, my brain won't let me turn it off.  That's when I take a pill.  I can mellow out and just sleep.  The truth is, I am more angry at my father than sad he is gone.  I mean, he had been gone from my life for nearly 20 years.  I accepted that he was gone.  I mourned him then.  I didn't expect or want to mourn him again.

What really is pissing me off is my father was mentally ill.  To what extent I don't know yet.  But people keep saying to me that his leaving was the best thing he could have ever done for me, knowing how abusive he was to me.  And as an adult, I get that.  As a daughter, I don't know if I will be able to understand why.

My whole life I wanted to know why my father left.  I will never hear the answer I want or deserve and that has pissed me off.  I am also holding a lot of guilt.  The thought of my father suffering with his demons alone, dying alone, and being buried alone haunts me.  I have that gene that wants to help and fix everyone.  I couldn't fix my father, nor did I get a chance to try.  Logically I know that I couldn't fix him, I couldn't help him, and it is certainly not my fault he was alone.  But as his daughter, it's a harsh reality and a very hard pill to swallow.

In all this, I had one moment of complete peace.  I had just returned home from the pharmacy and on the railing heading up to my upstairs neighbor was a hawk or eagle of some sort.  It was the largest bird I had ever seen outside a zoo.  I stopped walking and just stared at him and he stared at me.  And my mind was quiet.  As silly as it sounds I started talking to him.  Asking him to hold still so I could take his picture and I just thought he was so amazing.  He cocked his head from side to side like he was listening to me.  After I took his picture, I told him thank you and walked away, looking back to see if he flew off.  But he just sat there and watched me leave.  That three to five minutes I stood there with this bird, I may sound nuts to some of you, but it was an amazing silence and I could finally breath.

HN59 Girlfriends

So, on Thursday night we were having another monsoon storm when I heard a thunder crack so loud it made me jump out of my chair.  I decided to lay off the internet and catch up on my DVR.  Turn on the TV and...nothing.

Restart the DVR...Nothing...No satellite signal.  I figured it was because the storm was still in the area so I went to bed.  Woke up the next day...No satellite signal.  I call the Direct TV and BWA BWA no TV until Monday.

Then I remembered that because I have HBO, I can access shows online.  I have been on this Sex in the City kick.  I didn't ever see the show when it originally ran and I haven't seen the first movie.  But I was catching the edited shows on E! and all of a sudden I needed to watch them.  So I log onto the HBO and start watching from episode one.

At first I was endeared with the friendship the woman had...Then the show turned into something I could not relate to at all.  Granted, I don't have a core group of girlfriends, but I used to.  In jr. high and high school, I had a core group of girlfriends I couldn't live without.

In Jr. High it was:

Janessa was a short blonde with green eyes.  Everyone expected us to be best pals because of the name and we didn't disappoint.  i spent the night at her dad's house all the time.  We swapped boyfriends more than once.  We even tried to hatch a plan to fix my mother up with her father.  Her and I went to our first concert together.  I was the first person she called when she lost her virginity.  I got into more fights with Janessa then anyone.  Probably because I loved her so much and I was watching her self-destruct.  Sometimes you have to let them go.  I saw her about six-months before I left and she's doing great.

Heather was the new girl in school.  Blonde and pretty.  The "popular" girls made fun of her because she was wearing white jeans and they had a red Levi tag on the ass.  They teased her about starting her period and almost made her cry.  I didn't give a shit.  She seemed nice enough so I introduced myself and we were instant friends.  I spent a lot of time with her and her mom.  The first time I saw Rocky Horror was with Heather.  The first time I got drunk was with Heather.  We were 15 and at her neighbors house drinking Coronas.  Her neighbors brother just got of jail and his 19 year old self was quite smitten with Heather.  So much so, he tried to put it in her butt.  I saw Heather run out of the closet they were hiding in and into the bathroom.  I said something like, take a shit, you'll feel better.  She and I swapped one boyfriend.  Turns out once was enough and our friendship dwindled.

Shannon was a classroom aid's daughter.  She was a petite, blonde, big blue eyes, and beautiful.  We came together because we like the same boy.  Mike Mysak.  He was dreamy and an artist and was Shannon's boyfriend.  And how dare I be talking to him.  I don't remember what we talked about, but we became fast friends.  I also became fast friends with her family.  I spend a lot of time with Shannon and her family through jr. high and high school.  Even if we didn't hang out in the same circles in high school.  I was still in her life and she was still in mine.  I was one of the first people to know that Shannon was having a baby.  I remember when Chloe was born.  I had come home from Taco Bell, Nachos in hand and my mom said Gayle, Shannon's mom, had called and said Chloe arrived.  I dropped my Nachos on the ground, ran to my car, and hauled ass to the hospital.  Chloe was perfect.  Shannon is someone I wish was still in my life as a constant, but I get her in small flashes.  I will take it.  She is an amazing mom to two girls and a step mom to another and still beautiful in every way.

In high school, I was in a different district from my girls and the year apart took it's toll.  When I transferred to the same school as my girls, it was very different.  And I went on a search for a new core group.  This brought Gina, Karen, and Karin.

I have talked about Gina before, so I will spare the details again.

Karen with an 'E' was Gina's best friend since elementary school and lived in the same Town houses.  I somehow fit myself in and Karen and I found we had something in common.  We liked to tease Gina.  Oh and we liked to flirt with the security guard so he would buy us cigarettes.  Karen made me laugh, and loud.  We were goof balls.  But as Gina and I grew closer, Karen and I grew apart.  I was taking her childhood friend as far as she was concerned and that was unforgivable.  She lives in Kentucky with her son and is a born again.

Karin with an "I" also lived in the same town houses as Gina and Karen.  I met her when she started working at Burger King.  She had a Honda Civic and listened to Keith Sweat and DMX.  Karin made me laugh all the time.  We used to drive around in her car and to amuse herself, she would roll up the windows and turn the heat on so it blew on our feet.  I would yell at her my feet are hot and she would laugh her big laugh.  For those of you who comment on my laugh,  you would love Karin's laugh.  She married her long time boyfriend and ended up divorcing fairly quickly.  But she isn't one to let life keep her down.  She owns her own condo, has a hunky marine boyfriend, and seems to be very happy.

So while watching Sex in the City did resonate with me like it must have with other women, it did remind me that I didn't always not get along with females and that I actually did have some really great friends.  And while I may not be close with them anymore, I still have a lot of good memories, and that has made me feel good this week.

I Hope He Did

Long time listener pals will know that I have often joked about having daddy issues.  I have wanted to do a show about my father for a long time.  I could never find the right time to sit and talk about things I have been ashamed of for the majority of my life.  But I have come to a point where if I don't purge these things, I will never feel better about myself or my relationship with my father.

I will start off by saying that these are my memories and they may not be accurate.  I really think I have blocked some things out.  

My father's name was Odin, he went by Lee.  He was born in 1957 in Colorado, but I am not sure.  He married my mom in November of 1978, when I was six-months old.  I don't know what he did for a living when I was a baby, but I remember him being a security guard.  He took me to work with him once.  A nice lady gave me candy.

I don't remember the first time my father hit me, nor do I remember the last time.  I do remember the routine.  He would go in his room and get his belt, close my bedroom window, close my bedroom door, and tell me to bend over in front of the closet.  I remember him telling me if I screamed he's hit me harder.  I remember always being afraid.  I used to think that my father got off on hearing me cry and scream.  He used to lock me in the trunk of the car and laugh when I would scream to get out.  He told me I needed to toughen up.

I remember once I had done something that made him mad, but he didn't have time to "discipline" me then.  Told me I was lucky.  Two days later we had picked up a bed for my sister.  He built the bed, made it, then looked at me and said, it time to take care of you now.  He pushed me into my room and did the routine.  He would tell me in the morning he was going to come home and whip me and I would spend all day praying he would forget.  He never did.

When I was six, I had a pink shirt with Garfield on the front.  I remember him telling me to put it away.  I was six...I folded it as best a six year old could and put it in the wrong drawer.  This set him off.  This was the angriest I remember him being.  I couldn't go to school after the incident.  When I did return, I remember my teacher asking me something that lead me to say my daddy hit me.  She sent me to the nurse and the nurse checked me for bruises.  The police were called to my house.  I don't remember anything about them being there other than they being there and my mother being furious at me for showing the nurse my backside.  Shortly after, my mother and father split up and My mother, sister, and I moved in with my grandparents.

At first, my dad was attentive.  We saw him every weekend.  Talked to him on the phone almost every day.  But one day I had called, and he couldn't hear me.  I called again, he couldn't hear me.  I called the next day,  he couldn't hear me.  I called again and his girlfriend, Pam, could and put him on the phone.  He said he didn't know why he couldn't hear me and it must have been the connection.  This happened for a month.  I wasn't stupid and when he answered the phone I yelled at the top of my lungs, "Daddy i know you can hear me and I love you and wish you would love me."  He hung up.

In this time frame, the excuses started with why he couldn't see up.  The last time my mom tried to drop us off, he answered the door, I remember him being naked.  He told us we had to leave, that we couldn't visit and closed the door.  That was the last time I was dropped off for a visit.  I was eight.  There were a few phone calls, promises of visits, promises of lots of things.  It is heartbreaking to know at the age of eight that your father has no intention of taking care of you or seeing you, and soon even talking to you.

A few years later, I answered the phone and heard a very familiar voice ask for my mother.  She was at work.  He asked me if I knew who he was.  I said, "Yes, Lee.  I know who you are."  He went into a I've missed you, I want to make it up to you, but I've been sick.  Same speech I had heard a dozen times.  After we hung up, I called my mother at work asking why she had been hiding him from me.  In my mind, she knew where he was and was talking to him, but didn't tell me.  She was hiding him from me.  For my own good, now that i can look back as an adult.  I was so confused.  We did end up seeing him...In a mental hospital, where he had been committed for trying to commit suicide.  That was the last time I saw my father.  I was 12.

When my father was released, he moved to Colorado to take care of his mother.  And at first, the phone calls were regular, I think there were some letters.  For Christmas, he sent me a bible.  I am not nor have i ever been religious and didn't understand the gift.  My father was angry because I didn't appreciate it.  I was 12!  All I cared about was New Kids on the Block and having bangs.  I still have the bible.  He wrote in it.  It's the only gift he had given me.  And while I may not have any interest in reading it, I know it is there.

Soon the letters stopped, the phone calls dwindled.  Soon his phone was disconnected.  I would have to call my grandmother and tell her I lost his number and she would give me the new one.  This game continued until 1994.  Around this time, my father wanted me to go to Colorado and see him.  Told me he was saving up to buy my an airplane ticket.  Called me one day to tell me he had purchased it with United and he couldn't wait to see me.  I called United and what do you know, no plane ticket.  I called him out and the lies started flowing how the airline made a mistake and he would fix it.  I gave up.

My best friend in high school's name was Shannon.  She had moved to Colorado for a year and came back.  Her family had to drive up to pick up a few things and invited me to come along.  I accepted.  Shannon's father asked me if i wanted to see my dad.  That he would drive me to Denver if i wanted.  I declined.  I knew Lee wouldn't want to see me.  I enjoyed my trip and seeing parts of the land that I may have never seen otherwise.

While I was gone, my father had called.  I don't know  how the conversation went, but he knew I had been in Colorado.  The phone call I got when I was back home I have titled "The Best and Worst Moment of My Life."  Lee screamed at me, what an ungrateful bitch I was, and how dare I not tell him I was going to Colorado.  How dare I keep that from him.  I stuck up for myself.  I said he hadn't given two shits about me for years, he lied all the time, and I deserve better.  He then told me I was not to talk to my father that way.  I told him, if you acted like my father, even once, maybe I could show you that respect.  I also said, I know you are lying to Grandma about why you don't talk to us and why you don't see us.  She was ill at that time, so i told him, I will let her continue thinking that her only son is a model human being and father.  He thanked me.  He thanked me for protecting him from my poor grandmother who thought my mother was keeping us from her.  He then said to me that if I wanted to be in his life, I had to call him.  I said NO!  You are the adult, you are my father, if you want to be in my life, you will call me.  I was 16...I never talked to him again.

On July 28th, my mother called me telling me that a police officer had come to her door looking for my sister. That my sister had to call someone regarding a person in Wyoming.  My mother called and got in touch with a lovely woman.  This lovely woman is a coroner and was trying to find my sister to notify her my father was dead.

I was and still am a little in shock.  I never thought I would know when Lee passed away.  I thought it would happen and I would spend my entire life wondering.  I have looked for my father every year, around his birthday, and hope I could find him.  I don't have to look anymore.

After 20 years of not having Lee in my life,  he is now overwhelming it.  I have had to sign documents giving permission to cremate him, sell what belongings he had, and provide what information I could for his death certificate.  Which I suppose is normal for a child to do for their parent, but I can't help feeling like I shouldn't have had to do this.  Then all my anger rose to the surface again.  And what saved me from completely going into some weird rage-filled place was this coroner.

She has gone beyond the duties of her job.  Really.  I don't know anything specific because she can't tell me until his case is closed.  But she told me that he lived alone, his neighbors didn't see him for weeks at a time.  Even his close friend said he wouldn't see him for weeks.  That he was having a very hard time coping with trauma he experienced as a child.  His records indicate suicidal thoughts, anger problems, and he was not dealing with it all well.  The only reason anyone knew he passed was he was a Veteran, a fact I did not know.  They do welfare calls to check on vets from time to time.  He didn't answer his phone.

He died alone.  He died alone and probably felt like no one loved him.  And as much as I had been angry with him, I found that I was beginning to feel sad for him.  That whatever demons he had, they were too much for him.  And in all this anger and sadness, I found that I did have love for my father.  That he gave me life, and maybe that was all he could give me.

I know I will never get the answers I want as to why my father chose to leave us behind and battle his thoughts alone.  I will never quite understand.  Maybe it was to spare us from watching him deteriorate.  Maybe he didn't want to make his demons, mine and my sisters'.  Little did he know that he did.

I wish he knew that I never stopped looking and I would have done anything to help him.  In the end I just wanted him to love me, and I hope he did.