Word to Your Mutha!

Things I Hate Today

*Calling in sick for a Friday. I always feel like people don't believe that I'm really ill.

*Calling in sick late in the day (I work overnights). I went to bed Thursday morning feeling a little sniffly, but otherwise ok. I woke Thursday afternoon with fever, a throat so sore I could barely swallow or even talk and swollen lymph nodes in my neck. Calling in at 1:30pm meant my replacement (who was already well into working half his day already) had to be sent home, only to return to work at 10:30pm.

*Having a ridiculously sore throat. A throat, as mentioned above, so sore I can't really swallow or talk. I like to talk. A lot. And... well, if you don't swallow, where does the saliva go? That's right... you get drooly (or at least, I get drooly). I feel like a St. Bernard for Godsake.

Just Make It Go Away

Of all the things we should've said, That were never said.

All the things we should've done, That we never did.

All the things that you needed from me.

All the things that you wanted for me.

All the things that I should've given, But I didn't.

It's hard to believe it's been four years. And yet, it's not that hard to believe.

Four years since my Dad died.

Tonight, I'm moved to tears.

I miss him so very much.

It's not fair. Life's not fair, I know. But I shouldn't have lost my dad so soon. My dad was just two months shy of turning 51 years old when he died. Before he got the chance to watch his first granddaughter, my oldest niece (in the pics with him) grow into the beautiful young lady she is today. Before he got to see my sister's other beautiful daughter, named for him.

Before he saw my babies... my beautiful baby girl, Googie. Before he saw his grandson, who also shares his name.

I want to scream. Even now. Scream like I did the night I found out he was gone.

The pain feels as raw tonight as it did four years ago when I sat on my sister's front porch, racked with sobs.

I've wanted to write something on this sad anniversary. I've been composing it for months in my head.

But sitting here, in front of the computer tonight, all I can do is cry.

I miss his smell.

I miss his voice. Sometimes it's so hard to remember the sound of it.

I miss his laugh.

I miss his stupid jokes. He'd tell you the same joke 20 times. It never got any funnier, but that didn't matter. He was known for his sense of humor, for his pranks and his jokes.

I like to think I got my sense of humor from him.

We didn't always get along well in the last few years of his life. Sometimes I hate myself for that.
Especially around this time of year.

My dad wasn't a saint, but really who is? He was a good man. He was a good friend. He was a good dad.

I wish the pain of missing him so much would go away. I wish I could make it through this anniversary without tears... I wish I could just enjoy the warm memories...

Maybe someday.

I miss you Boudreau.

Neglect

It's a sad, sad thing to see my blog sitting here so lonely. No updating. Nothing new posted since early August.

I think of great topics every day. And yet, I don't write. I need to work on that, for me. I promise I will. Just tell Googie and Soupy to give me a moment's peace, will ya?

To make up for my horrible lack of writing... check out this gratitious pic of my cuties, ridin' in style at the grocery store.