Foto Friday

This is a photo of me, my dad and Babe (my dad always had Saint Bernards. Good dogs. Unbelievably slobbery but good dogs.) It's probably obvious from the avocado green desk in the background (and the blue shag carpeting that isn't really visible) that this house was decorated in the 70s.

My dad had diabetes and succombed to the disease two weeks before my thirteenth birthday.

My dad was da bomb. He would drive around in his convertible Mercedes with the top down in a Midwest November, heat blowing and Tammy Wynette blazing. He let me watch scary movies and gave me space - something my overbearing mother wouldn't allow me. He taught me tolerance of people who aren't like me and let me swim in our pool without waiting the required thirty minutes after eating. I am so much more like him than I am my mother...

I am so so thankful I had him for as long as I did...but have struggled for decades with the finality of his death. Whenever I hear of someone contemplating suicide, especially someone with children, I get REALLY pissed off. Do you know what it's like for a child to have to accept the fact that he/she will NEVER see their parent again? It messes you up for many, many years.

I can only hope heaven truly does exist and that he, Babe, Henry and Brute (the three Saints) are there together...mixing vodka tonics and waiting for the rest of us to come up to the party.

Because that will be one hell of a party. Especially with my tolerance for alcohol...