Just a quick note of appreciation for all my friends, family and professors that have been so kind during this time.
You have no idea how much you being there in your own ways has meant to me... and something I have learned first hand over the past week, is never let a moment escape you to tell someone how much they mean to you.
So... for my family and friends (you know who y'all are) ... THANK YOU. Thank you for just listening, for sitting with me, for just trying to make things as normal as possible these last few weeks.
The services are over, and as my father would say... "quit stalling" and time to dive head first back into the semester and finish out these last 9 weeks as I started... STRONG.
16 February, 2009
11 February, 2009
Stay off the d*mn rocks!!!
At just 60 years young, my biological father passed away yesterday. He suffered from several issues including stage four liver failure, and the latest issue and the one that dealt the final blow – a malignant brain tumor. Apparently, the tumor went undiagnosed for years, as the doctors dismissed his symptoms as part of the liver disease. He really started going down hill when I was in Jordan about a month ago, but I was lucky enough to get to El Paso right before his first brain surgery to say “hello” and “goodbye” to him for the last time.
I remember my father as this strapping young fellow full of sarcasm and biting wit – someone who enjoyed laughing at other people’s expense – no seriously, there was nothing funnier to him than if someone tripped or got hit in the head. I have NO idea why such things tickled him so much – but they did! And, for some reason, he ALWAYS gave people nicknames from “Miss Taco Bell” to an overweight women walking across the street, to “the crow” for some chick I went to SDSU with, as he thought her nose resembled a beak, and her black hair only aided this mental image. He taught me horrible words, like “eightball” to denote a crazy or stupid person to which I used quite regularly with my kindergarten classmates and teachers – much to my parents dismay.
In his younger years, my father loved to travel. From scuba diving off the Great Barrier Reef to lounging in Tahiti, to magical Spanish towns, to fishing off the coast of Mexico. Also, my father and I were lucky enough to travel to some pretty cool places together as well. From helicopter rides over the beautiful Kauai Island, to getting stuck in St. Marteen for a few extra days due to Hurricane Bertha, to even white water rafting down the Salmon River in Idaho. I will NEVER forget that trip – as for some reason every bee in the state of Idaho seemed to be after my father. He was terrified of bees, so needless to say, he did NOT have a good time flailing and swatting at the yellow jackets and bees every minute of everyday. He got stung several times on that trip – but he claimed to have killed at least 50 yellow jackets – so that was a victory for him.
There is no doubt in my younger years I was the cause for much consternation for my father. I indeed lived up to my nickname, “the beast” from an early age – from fighting with just about every girlfriend he ever had, to causing problems and screaming at the babysitters, to just being an all-around brat (I mean seriously, some of the stunts I pulled were epic, and earned quite a few spankings and slaps - good thing this was in the 80s or else CPS might have had something to say about that)!!
When my mother remarried, I was six years old, and lucky enough to gain another AMAZING Dad. I now had two father-figures in my life. My father always got along with my step-dad (who I also call my Dad – so please don’t get confused), so it made things easy for me as a child. In fact, I thought I was quite lucky, as I got to have two Christmas’ and two birthdays’ – which meant twice the presents! Even with the geographical distance that separated my father and I, we always remained close – talking twice a day for a good part of my life. As I grew older, however, we drifted apart a bit. I wish I could go back and tell him that even though I didn’t call or email him everyday, that I was thinking about him. See, my father was the type of person that would get his feelings hurt very easily, and didn’t understand sometimes why I didn’t call as often as I should.
Anyway, my father was a good man, and I know that he loved me very much – and did everything he could to try and make my life as best as possible, and together with my mom and other Dad, did everything they could to try and give me the best opportunities to succeed. My father was a man of few words, but he definitely got his point across. When I saw him for the last time a couple weeks ago, he told me to “be good” and to “to never do anything that is bad for me.” He didn’t want to admit that this was a “goodbye” so he kept the fatherly advice to a minimum. I reassured him I would always be good, and that I would do well. As I was leaving the room, he shouted after me, “… and stay off those god damn rocks!!!” He always hated reading my blog entries and seeing my pictures about hiking - as he thought it was too dangerous and I was being stupid. I’m sorry Dad – I will always be good and I will always love you – but I just cannot stay off the "rocks"… I know he’ll understand.
I remember my father as this strapping young fellow full of sarcasm and biting wit – someone who enjoyed laughing at other people’s expense – no seriously, there was nothing funnier to him than if someone tripped or got hit in the head. I have NO idea why such things tickled him so much – but they did! And, for some reason, he ALWAYS gave people nicknames from “Miss Taco Bell” to an overweight women walking across the street, to “the crow” for some chick I went to SDSU with, as he thought her nose resembled a beak, and her black hair only aided this mental image. He taught me horrible words, like “eightball” to denote a crazy or stupid person to which I used quite regularly with my kindergarten classmates and teachers – much to my parents dismay.
In his younger years, my father loved to travel. From scuba diving off the Great Barrier Reef to lounging in Tahiti, to magical Spanish towns, to fishing off the coast of Mexico. Also, my father and I were lucky enough to travel to some pretty cool places together as well. From helicopter rides over the beautiful Kauai Island, to getting stuck in St. Marteen for a few extra days due to Hurricane Bertha, to even white water rafting down the Salmon River in Idaho. I will NEVER forget that trip – as for some reason every bee in the state of Idaho seemed to be after my father. He was terrified of bees, so needless to say, he did NOT have a good time flailing and swatting at the yellow jackets and bees every minute of everyday. He got stung several times on that trip – but he claimed to have killed at least 50 yellow jackets – so that was a victory for him.
There is no doubt in my younger years I was the cause for much consternation for my father. I indeed lived up to my nickname, “the beast” from an early age – from fighting with just about every girlfriend he ever had, to causing problems and screaming at the babysitters, to just being an all-around brat (I mean seriously, some of the stunts I pulled were epic, and earned quite a few spankings and slaps - good thing this was in the 80s or else CPS might have had something to say about that)!!
When my mother remarried, I was six years old, and lucky enough to gain another AMAZING Dad. I now had two father-figures in my life. My father always got along with my step-dad (who I also call my Dad – so please don’t get confused), so it made things easy for me as a child. In fact, I thought I was quite lucky, as I got to have two Christmas’ and two birthdays’ – which meant twice the presents! Even with the geographical distance that separated my father and I, we always remained close – talking twice a day for a good part of my life. As I grew older, however, we drifted apart a bit. I wish I could go back and tell him that even though I didn’t call or email him everyday, that I was thinking about him. See, my father was the type of person that would get his feelings hurt very easily, and didn’t understand sometimes why I didn’t call as often as I should.
Anyway, my father was a good man, and I know that he loved me very much – and did everything he could to try and make my life as best as possible, and together with my mom and other Dad, did everything they could to try and give me the best opportunities to succeed. My father was a man of few words, but he definitely got his point across. When I saw him for the last time a couple weeks ago, he told me to “be good” and to “to never do anything that is bad for me.” He didn’t want to admit that this was a “goodbye” so he kept the fatherly advice to a minimum. I reassured him I would always be good, and that I would do well. As I was leaving the room, he shouted after me, “… and stay off those god damn rocks!!!” He always hated reading my blog entries and seeing my pictures about hiking - as he thought it was too dangerous and I was being stupid. I’m sorry Dad – I will always be good and I will always love you – but I just cannot stay off the "rocks"… I know he’ll understand.
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