Stories of Hotchie

One of my all-time favorite stories of my dad is actually one I wasn't there for, but perfectly illustrates the #relationshipgoals I got from my parents. My dad was diagnosed with terminal stage 4 stomach cancer in June 1999. He lived 10 months with this horrible disease. Despite the severity of his disease and the battle he faced, my dad and his crazy driving antics never faded. 

We nicknamed my dad Cruella De Vil based on her driving scene in 101 Dalmatians. He never drove with his hands (he learned this when he served in Vietnam and drove tanks with his legs and shot guns out of the top because he was so tall). He was always looking around and pointing out things going on around you, speeding, switching lanes without looking, he was nuts. 

One time during his 10 month battle, he drove my mom and friends Mr. Chris and Ms. Beth (I was raised in the South and you show respect by calling adults Mr. And Ms.) to the Atlanta airport. If you've ever been to Atlanta and have had to drive to the airport, you know how much it sucks. I don't care what people say, Atlanta has the worst traffic ever. This is how the story goes...

My dad drove his 1994 Grand Marquis boat (with no power steering and terrible horse power) through downtown Atlanta like a maniac. Everyone in the car was scared because he was driving the whole way down by speeding up, slamming on brakes, switching lanes without looking, being the typical terrible driver he could be. My mom, Mr. Chris and Ms. Beth all periodically throughout the drive told him to slow down, calm down, etc. 

And, finally my mom looks at my dad and says,"Hey asshole! We all know you're dying, but the rest of us aren't. Slow down." 

Boom. My mom delivered the ultimate line. I still chuckle thinking of it, and every time they tell the story, I laugh out loud so hard. My mom was the only person who could stop Hotchie right in his tracks. This story perfectly fits their relationship and is how I learned what love is all about. The good, the bad and the absolute funny. 

When You Lose Your Cheerleader

One of the hardest things to comprehend about an extreme loss, especially when you lose a parent, is the loss is bigger than them just not being there. It's a confidence shaker. Why? Think about your parents, and all the times they stood behind you or all the things of yours they came to...they've been your biggest cheerleader and supporter. Now think what a life without that unconditional emotional support is like. One thing I miss so much (although if he was here, he'd drive me nuts about it) is having him be the cheerleader as I venture through unemployment. He would've annoyingly "solved" the problem by pestering all his contacts until one of them hired me to shut him up. He'd be on the sidelines of my life rooting me on to get the job. 

I share all of this to help people who haven't lost immediate family understand more about all the ways the loss affects you. It's physical, and it's emotional in all aspects. It also doesn't matter that he's been gone so many years, in fact the length of his time gone is sometimes harder. All these moments, decisions and life choices made...without my other cheerleader screaming obscenities as he roots on his little girl. Tonight, I really miss him and wish I could hear his voice. 

Spirits Around Us

I've always been a firm believer that the spirits of relatives who have passed are around us constantly. I've had several encounters with my dad and grandparents in the 18 years since my Grammy and 16 years since my dad and Poppy passed. From feeling them to seeing white marks in pictures, all along the journey of life, I've encountered them. 

Last night, they clearly wanted their presence known. Mom, Charlotte and I went to a family reunion for my Grammy's side of the family. I tell mom we need our pictures taken because we're rarely all dressed with hair and makeup on at once. We're on the porch with mom's brothers and Grammy's brother, and my uncle snaps a bunch of pictures of the three of us. Nothing crazy, just an iPhone camera, no editing, just a bunch of about 15 pics. I get the phone and start looking at them. 

I'm not kidding when I say EVERY single picture we're covered in these white marks all around our faces and arms. 15 photos with changing from the three of us, to mom and me, to Charlotte and me. All of them. I get goosebumps looking at these. You can say it's the lighting or whatever, but as a believer who has had this happen to photos all these years, I know without a shadow of a doubt, my family surrounded the three of us. If they can't be here physically, they're here with their presence. ❤️ 

Here's one of the pictures with no editing: 

When Father's Day Finally Became Happy Again

Until June of 2014, Father's Day was always a day full of grief. I watched as friends posted happy memories of their dads, but I only had pictures to post of what I once had. My pictures show the age of how long it had been without him. 14 years of a day centered around celebrating a man who wasn't there. It was too devastating to bear. Then, like a sign from dad, my daughter was born on Father's Day weekend. I got to celebrate the day again by celebrating my husband as a dad. He's the best dad! So loving, doting and caring...he makes her world go round. The day finally became filled with happiness again. I was able to buy Father's Day gifts again, and the day isn't as bad anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still absolutely miss my dad. This day still hurts because he's not here, but my husband and daughter make it better. I would give anything to be able to call or see my dad, and I will when I leave this world, but until then, I have these two to enjoy. 

Happy Father's Day to my daddy in heaven, and to my amazing husband!

And if you still have your dad, call him, see him, hug him and tell him you love him. One day, you won't be able to do it anymore. 

The Way I Know He's Still Here...

When my dad died, one of the worst thoughts I had was knowing he would never meet my husband or children. At the time, it was merely a thought, but what happened years later is one way I know he's still with me. 

I've had moments throughout these 16 years where I've felt his presence, or known it was my dad running the show up in heaven that lead me to where I was. For one, I know he handpicked my husband, and found a way to get me to move to Ohio to meet him. And, It's also hard to deny the magic of heaven when my cousin drove down from Ohio while my dad was dying to share a little secret that made his appearance on my birthday, nine months later. But, on to the reason for this post in the first place...

As my daughter has grown up, and her hair actually came in, we've noticed it has an undeniable strawberry blond color. She gets it from my dad. It's a daily reminder that she has his DNA. He lives on through this mutual puzzle of genetics. There's Irish in that girl, and to me, it feels like it's a sign from my dad that he's still here. And, yes, it's technically a genetic luck of the draw that she got it, but it makes me smile everyday. Grief takes so many things away, but it gives back in strange little ways...this is one for sure!

Until It's Your Loss...

Have you buried a parent, spouse, sibling or child? Especially, when it was way before their time to leave this earth? If you have, you'll totally relate. If you haven't, pay attention because this post will help you be more empathetic to those in your life that have. My dad died of stomach cancer when I was 16. I'm now 32. I lost something beyond imaginable to most. Every single day, I think of him. Some days it's a happy memory, and some days I cry because I miss him or I'm still pissed over what I lost. In layman's terms, half of my life has been spent missing someone. A missing and longing with the ultimate finality. To see him again will be the day I leave this earth myself. If you've never buried an immediate family member, you have no idea how painful it is to long for the person and the life you lost with them until it's yours. 

Not a day of your life passes without thinking of that person. There is always something that reminds you of them. Now imagine what it feels like on holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. Some years on these days, I'm smiling as I think of him (and actually most holidays this is true), but my dad’s birthday and anniversary of his death always seem to haunt me. Some people who grieve have the ability to live these days as another day and grieve at different times. I am simply not able to do that. I think especially for me, the anniversary of his death reminds me of the day my childhood ended. No 16-year-old kid should have to wake up to her father’s body drained of life. But I did. That is the last memory of the man who was bigger than life, full of wisdom, full of energy, a giant-hearted man. I felt so robbed of the life we would've had. It all died in that moment. Therefore, every year when this day comes about, I'm a total mess. 

But the saddest part to me is if I didn't post on social media about it, most of the people in my life wouldn't even know what the day is. To most, it's just another day. The day that changed my life, destroyed dreams, and took away half of the reason I'm alive is nothing more to most than a typical day. And I get it, this day doesn't directly affect you. But it makes me a full on mess.

So, my point of this post is to be a better friend to those who are brave enough to post on social media about their loved ones. Whether it's the anniversary or just a regular day where they're posting, engage with them. They're sharing because they're in need of love. 

We're heartbroken, and yes, we're seeking the engagement because we need to know others love us and remember the person we lost. And if you knew the person who passed, please comment about how amazing they were or share a memory of that person. Because for a fleeting moment they come back to life when you share a memory. (And to those who did this for me, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your words and kindness make those days better. I love each and everyone of you so much!) We may know the story you share or we may not, but you have no idea what it means to us. Please call us, text us, send us a message/email or comment on our post. We may not respond in the moment, but you will have changed the course of the day. Why? Because we're not alone, we're loved, and most importantly, our loved one is loved. 

Talk to me Goose...

It's so interesting to me even after all the years that have gone by since my dad passed away how in the most unlikely of places and moments something instantly reminds you of the loved one you lost.

My dad was a huge personality, and he loved to embarrass, impress, annoy or over-the-top show his love. I so distinctly remember how my dad loved to blast the volume and show off his surround sound system. It reminds me of the part in the Italian Job one of the characters wants speakers so loud it would blast a woman's dress off. Dad loved to crank it loud, pump up the bass and shake everything in the area. He got such a kick out of it. I've lost a lot of memories of him, but this is one I'll never forget. Dad's favorite movie/soundtrack to use? The opening song in Top Gun. So melodic, with the navy planes blasting and a ton of boom, it was his giddy joy to make people jump when all the loud noises kicked in.

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting with my former boss and his son took me on a tour of their home. The highlight was the movie room. As he worked to play something and crank the volume, the memory of dad came top of mind at a speed of quickness I can't explain. It's sad and joyous all in the same moment. Grief does that, pulls many emotions out all at once. As they talk and play a movie, all I can think about is that moment and what life would be like if he were here today. I just know dad would have a movie room with Top Gun constantly prepped to play at a moments notice. 

I'm even reminded of it again as I scroll through our DVR to pick a movie to fall asleep to and pass Top Gun in the list. I crack a smile, a tiny laugh and a have brief memory of the first man I loved. Maybe it's a subtle way he reminds me he's still around or just a precious internal way of keeping him alive, but I love it. For a brief moment he's alive again and never left. I live for little moments like this. It's what anyone who grieves does. In the midst of a point in life filled with uncertainty, this give me peace. What a wonderful gift.