21 June 2009

7 years ago today my daddy died. Today is Father’s Day.

I miss you more than you could ever know Daddy. Thank you for being the daddy you didn’t have to be. It wasn’t a job you took lightly, I was a scared 7 year old girl the day we met. So many changes in my life. I didn’t know who to trust or what to think. You made a difference in my life and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

For all of the dirty jokes, late night chats, playing “how do you know that?”, through every argument, every oil change, ..for teaching me how to rebuild an exhaust system, for showing me that you loved me.

Thank you.

Thomas Franklin Gibbs, Jr

July 2, 1943 – June 21, 2002

I will always be Daddy’s Girl.

20 years later

22 May 2009

When you are back in town, all sorts of strange things happen. Like you find out the car you crushed over in high school is still owned and loved by the same guy. That is good to know.

I have had some odd feelings being here. Old memories but no attachment like it is home.

We saw my cousin at the ice cream stand with his boys and their softball team getting after game ice cream and rolled down the window to chat a bit and the four-way stop. Feel so local.

Small town life isn’t bad. But I am glad I am not here every day anymore. With a small town, life comes small minds.

I am glad that I did most of my growing up in Germany and areas where variety was the spice of life, and sometimes to look back and be grateful for what I have now.

To think in high school I was the slacker girl; my “popular” cousin shunned me because I didn’t do or say the right things — they are still here and never got very far away from their beginning. My beginning is long behind me, and I am growing and moving forward with every step.  I have my mom and dad to thank for that. Mostly Mamma for seeing that this was no place to raise a child. = )


18 April 2009

My Aunt Mary and Grandma Puttick used to say “pish” all of the time. When I use it, most of the time I have to either get out a dictionary to prove that it is a word or listen to some arse say that it isn’t a word.

Like taking elocution lessons from a guy named Bubba in his beat all to hell ford truck is on my list of things to do. Not.

Tonight I watched a favorite entertainer. Billy Connolly – comic, musician, Highlander, SCOT! He says PISH.


It is funny how many words I have grown up with that everyone in our family knows what they mean and we have our own way of communicating but outside of that twisted and evil circle we need a Corrupt to English dictionary.

One day I will live some place where their language is magic – where it is not a homogonized glob of politically correct nonsense. Words will have meanings and the people who use them will mean what they say.

It’ll be a grand day to be sure.

dream a little dream

10 April 2009

I have the strangest dreams. I don’t try to over analyze them. Hell, I don’t even try to analyze them. Some times they make me sad and some times they make me smile. Last night I had a dream that did both.

I am a fangrrl when it comes to Hugh Laurie. I will watch the biggest bit of crap just to see him for a moment. I adore HOUSE but I like the “british” Hugh better. His voice is melodic. I wish I could find some audio books read by him. I would listen to him all day long.

The dream had me filling out some crazy questionnaire in order to sit in on a studio session with Hugh Laurie recording his podcast — (which doesn’t exist btw .. I wish!) in this little one level building on the beach surrounded by large hotels.

With me, Mamma and Daddy. Laurie in front of us at his desk, during the breaks I sat on the floor with my mom and talked about cell phones. She had a pink phone but liked my Instinct. (Which I abhor.) I told her she could have mine when I get a new one. Then I heard my dad ask Laurie if he would like to play Nintendo. It was surreal.

I dream about my parents often. I miss them terribly. It has been 7 years and I don’t know if it will ever get better. I woke up smiling because it was like being there with them talking and they were very much like they were in life. Sad that it wasn’t real – and the only clue that it was a dream was that I was a breath away from Hugh Laurie.


9 January 2009

What we have once enjoyed we can never lose, All that we love deeply becomes a part of us. Helen Keller

Yesterday would have been my mother’s 62nd birthday. She last held me over 7 years ago. The pain doesn’t go away. You learn to cope and make it through the days but it is always there. Almost looming.  I go along fine then the thought hits me .. Mom would love that I need to call her — and wham. It starts all over again.

I found the above quote somewhere random online – which is where I find everything. It made me smile.

I still talk to my parents. Believing that energy is energy regardless of form it is easy for me. But it doesn’t make missing her any easier.

FAMILY … DNA not required

18 October 2008

As most of you know I have long since been a believer in “YOU CAN PICK YOUR FAMILY”. I spend a great deal of time and energy listening to the bullshit and babblings of the crazy white trash that happens to share my family tree.

Well no more. I am kicking those crazy fuckers out of the tree. They can find their own tree- far – FAR away from my tree. I am only letting people in my tree that I give a damn about. So there.

Whining snob bitch who thinks her shit don’t stink and only calls MY HUSBAND when she needs tech support and never speaks to me. Out of the fuckin’ tree.

Lying, thieving drug addict with the mooching live-in son who ignores the dirty diaper his daughter sits in for days and no one does anything about it — out of the tree and take that smelly cow yer son fucks with yah.

Asshole golden boy who gets his way and takes what he wants, ruins it with no apologies — don’t let the branch hit yer ass on the way down.

Dead evil grandmother – don’t want to hear about her anymore. Didn’t want to hear about her when she was still sucking life force from this planet.

How life would be so much better if we would just all stick together. ‘xcuse me precious but I have to go vomit now.

As for step family and in-law family — this applies as well. If you can’t leave the labels alone …
then don’t bother coming up my tree. Family – real family … doesn’t have labels. Either you ARE, or your ARE NOT.

I was not his wife’s daughter from another marriage – I was his DAUGHTER. He thought so and I thought so — so much so that I took his name. One of the greatest gifts I ever could have given him … he told me himself.

Don’t like any of what I am saying then just leave me the hell alone because I am too old to go through life with people I can’t stand or people that don’t like me but “PRETEND FOR THE SAKE OF THE FAMILY”.

New rules — pick your own damned family and be happy.

My Best Friend

15 February 2005

It is a little after 9 p.m. as I sit here … the hum of the fish tank, the light of the moon, the repetition of the dog breathing at my feet comfort me … I miss my best friend.

Sometimes I wake up and look, only to find an empty pillow, forgetting he isn’t here … I mark the days off the calendar … closer as each day brings me … farther as each one takes me … I count how long it has been since he has held me … and wish for the remaining days to be whisked away … I want him to know that he is my best friend … and I miss him …

I need him like air, and ever since the first time he held me in his arms, under the moon, with the company of dolphins, whispered he loved me … I have been lost … I love you .. you are my every reason for being … you make me want to be near you always … I am a better person for having you in my life … and you have fulfilled every wish just by being you!

the late night rambling of a fool

3 April 2004

It is raining in Carlsbad night now … I can almost smell it. I miss
that open sky where you can watch the storm roll in for hours before it
gets there. I hated the reason WHY I had to be back in the desert- but
I didn’t hate the desert. Sometimes I miss it. But then again I am not
sure if I miss the desert or my parents. I connect the two — it’s
coming on 2 years since I went to New Mexico to take care of my dad
after my mom died. Two years without them. It feels really strange. I
find myself being sad a lot lately. Not weepy sad — well some days
weepy sad — but most of the time I am just sad. It hits me when LK is
bragging about the house to his parents. It hits me … I don’t have
anyone to brag to. I don’t have anyone to talk to about these kinds of
things anymore. I don’t have my mom to tell me she is proud of me, I
don’t have my dad to ask me how the electric is. Sometimes late at
night when I can’t sleep (which is most of the time), I lie in bed and
try to remember them. Some nights the memories flood in and some nights
I can’t even remember what color my mom’s eyes were. Every night is
different. Tonight is one of the nights where I need waders to get
through the memories they are so thick. Tonight is one of those nights
where I can’t stop thinking about it all. It is raining here tonight as
well, and listening to the drops hit the window reminded me of last
thunderstorm I had in New Mexico. My mom and dad were dead – I was
alone in the desert in a house I had no fondness for. Waiting on my
husband or my aunt or someone, anyone to come and be with me. There is
alone and then there is ALONE. I was more alone than I had ever been —
watching the lightning scatter across the sky and listening to the
thunder. Sleep just wouldn’t come. Two years later I still fight the
images of those weeks in the desert. The thoughts of “what if” — the
idea that maybe, just maybe if I had done one thing differently it all
would have worked out. There isn’t anything now I can do about it, and
somewhere deep inside I suppose I know I did all that a person can do.
Nights like tonight I replay the night my mom died. Driving across
country with LK, showing up at 11pm at my parents home – a home that I
had never seen before. Hearing the doctor go over the test results with
me. Listening to my dad’s voice break when he tells the doctor that it
is my decision — “She will know what to do.” … Which was his way of
saying “Please do what your mom would want because I just can’t let her
go.” The words escaping from my mouth — it didn’t seem real then and
they don’t seem real now. Watching my dad giving my mom back to the
wind one last time. Just when my brain starts to drift off and I think
I can maybe sleep at last… thoughts of my dad come rushing in. The
cancer, the losing battle, the nurses, the tears, all of the
conversations we had — all of the conversations I wish we would have
had. Watching him slip away — not being able to be at the hospital
with him as much as I would have liked. I wasn’t even over losing my
mom in that place just weeks before. The nightmare of that haunted me
every time I stepped foot in that place. His room was just around the
corner from hers. Same nurses, same faces — same smell. It was
horrible. Any time he was awake and I was there he would ask me about
the dogs and tell me to go home — at the end he wasn’t awake. The
drugs did that much for him. He made it clear the whole time I was
there — I was not there to take care of him. I was there to take care
of his dogs after he died. That is what he worried about. He was so
selfless. He could have been in pain beyond anyone’s comprehension and
he would ask the nurse if she would like something to eat or drink.
That week between his death and anyone being able to get out to New
Mexico with me I wondered if I would ever sleep again … well, so far
I haven’t really been able to sleep. To put it all out of mind and just
sleep – it isn’t insomnia but I wouldn’t call it sleep either. Eternal
napping, that’s what I guess you could call it. You know that bullshit
line people feed you when you’ve just buried a loved one … the pain
won’t go away but it will get better. It isn’t true. It doesn’t get
better. You are never the same. You may handle it a little better than
you expect but it never gets better. For me in fact it is worse. After
my mom died I was the strong one — I had to be. Everyone else broke
down … things had to be done and I had to do them. After my dad got
sick the same thing — things had to be done and I had to do them …
then he died. I moved back to Virginia and about 6 months after he died
I finally started to grieve for he and my mom. So if anything it has
not gotten better — but worse. Funny thing is — when I do sleep … I
dream about them, I just can’t escape. I need to shut the fuck up now –
nobody likes a whiner.

fatherless child

2 January 2004

My dad was not my father. It didn’t matter to him or to me that we were
not bound by genetics. He did all of the things that the man I thought
was my biological father couldn’t or wouldn’t. All of my life I had
questions about my father. There was a man that everyone told me was my
father, there was a family — grandparents, cousins — everything. I
always had my doubts. I never fit in, I didn’t like them, they didn’t
like me .. whatever reasons I felt strange around them. I didn’t feel
like family. I asked my mother countless times about it and she never
really answered my questions just sort of danced around it.
A few months ago I made a remark to an aunt of mine that I didn’t think
that the man they called my father was my actual father — I have made
comments about it before but this time someone said “You know, I have
had my doubts as well.” WHAT — you mean I could be onto something
Thanksgiving I found out that quite a few people had their doubts.
People that were there before I was born, facts about my parents
divorce / seperation. I found out that it is quite possible that I am
not related at all to the family I thought I was. This evening I spoke
with my cousin and she gave me some more information. While it is
exciting to think that I may have been right all of this time, and I am
not related to the Springer show that I thought was my family. I am a
little nervous. Do I want to know? What if they are wrong and I get my
hopes up and I am related to those people? Does my wanting to know make
my relationship with my dad worth less? I am full of questions and only
leads with no answers. I know I have to just look inside. I know that
family has NOTHING to do with DNA — I know that Thomas Gibbs was my
dad without question and I know that my choice in not acknowledging the
other family has more to do with who I am than and genetics testing. I
know this… but I still feel strange. I need to take a day — walk in
the woods and just think about it and ponder. Is it really worth
knowing. I guess if you believe something hard enough and want
something bad enough — then that is good enough. What would you do if
you didn’t know who your father was…. does it even matter.

Missing Mom

17 August 2003

My mom died 5 February 2002. Time has passed and some wounds have
healed, some have just gone numb. Getting on with life has gotten a
little easier, but last night for the first time in a long time I
really missed her. I missed her so much I couldn’t sleep. My mom and I
had this weird relationship. When I was growing up we fought
constantly. She raised me to think for myself and when I hit puberty
that notion came back to haunt her. *grins* We didn’t always see eye to
eye, we yelled, screamed and if you were on the outside looking in you
would think that we hated each other. Even through the teenage years, I
could ALWAYS go to her for
advice, to talk, anything, anytime, day or night. Last night was one of
those nights when growing up I would have crept into her room needing
to talk. She never slept well so most of the time I would find her
awake, either reading or working on crochet. She always stopped for me.
Some nights she would be exhausted but never gave in until I had it all
off of my chest. Later in life she became my best friend. I didn’t
always agree with her, or like what she was doing but she was always
there for me and I can’t deny that she had plenty of good advice. My
aunt says I am just like her. I agree that there are some eerie
similarities but I think I took the good from her and the good from my
dad and went from there out on my own. I don’t know what brought it on,
I don’t know how to turn it off — but I missed her last night more
than any night since she died.