Fuck It

Do you think there's fate? do you think that everything in this fucked up world has it's place and it's reason and it's need to exist? because I think it's utter and complete bullshit. I wasted an entire hour of my life getting on here and typing out every last thing I could remember about my father because I felt like I was losing him, and I get a phone call, and I try to download something on limewire, and I come back to this screen and it's just gone. Tell me this happened for a reason. Tell me that there is a god out there and he saw me truly trying to help myself and get better and he let some freak internet quirk erase it all away. This world is fucked. and I'm fucked up. I need this all down in typing, and I need it to be preserved, so i'm starting over, and I will duplicate every last thing that I remember writing.

I'm standing on the edge of I have no idea where I am, and I'm not sure I want to know. It's this sickening place where I jsut want to jump, but I'm not even sure what I"m jumping too, or maybe away from. It's just the adrenaline, the feeling that nothign can touch followed by a split second of pure pain before it bleeds out of your consciousness and you are left completely and utterly numb. I want to be numb again. And I'm not even sure why. My friends are back and behind me 100%. me and my boyfriend are fantastic, he has his problems, i have mine, but we are not each others problems. we're finally okay. but there are days when i still feel empty deep inside. Days where I know a piece of me is still missing and is never ever coming back.

I should be used to that spot, I should be comfortable knowing that nothing and no amount of healing will fill it. I can visit his grave, and talk about him, and look at pictures of him, but nothing will help. nothing will heal. nothing will change. he is gone. and he's not coming home to me.

the worst part of this entire ordeal is that I can't remember what he smelled like, or what color his eyes were. I don't remember his favorite color, or television show, or even song. I can't remember if his hands were soft or rough or in between. it's slipping through my fingers, and he's slipping through my consciousness. I fear that everyday he is gone I lose a new memory... even if i am trying so desperately to hold on.

I don't want my children to ask me about him 10 years down the road and not have answers to the simplest questions. I can't stand looking in the mirror knowing that I'm leaving him behind, that I have forgotten him. After all, I'm the writer of this family. I am the only one that I know of that takes the time to let everythign that happens to me bleed through my fingertips and onto paper. I should have written it down. But I failed him, and myself when I didn't. I am failing my father by not preserving his memory.

so here's the list... again... in no particular order. Every painstaking detail that is left, because it needs to be remembered, to be written down. he was the greatest man I ever knew and people need to know him. if only through this journal and my head, and my take on who he was.

he made a killer apple pie.

he liked poinsettas on christmas.

he thought he was some kind of photographer, even tho he was horrible at it.

he loved animals.

he grew a pot plant in the hallway bathroom never thinking that us kids would know what it was.

he couldn't type worth a damn.

he wore an army jacket or a flannel jacket 99% of the time that the weather called for it.

his shoes were always untied.

he was only ever at home outdoors.

he was gentle.

he was loving.

he was the richest man, if only in love.

money did not make a difference in his life.

roses were his favorite flower to take care of.

he took us to the park and brought wax paper so we could make the slide extra slick.

he hunted for arrowheads and morrell mushrooms.

he was obsessed with indian life, not only because of his heritage, but because he liked their way of life.

he took a thousand pictures but hardly ever developed the film.

his eyes were brown.

his hair was thick and brown too.

he loved nash bridges adn cheech and chong.

he bought a real live christmas tree every year for christmas before he moved out of my mom's house.

he loved beef jerky.

we made sugar cookies together every year.

he hated cleaning.

he drove a red pick up truck.

he took us to chuckee cheese.

he loved country music

his smile was crooked.

he loved twinkies, and anything else hostess.

he made even the simplest outings fun.

his favorite place to go out and eat was ryan's buffet.

he loved his and everyone else's children.

he built dollhouses.

he wanted to build a canoe.

he was a great fisherman, and taught me everything he knew.

he didn't want me to miss him.

he believed in me.

he never judged.

he had hairy toes, i guess everyone has their flaws.

he used old spice aftershave sometimes.

he bit his nails.

he called me jen jen.

i'll add to the list later, i feel better, but like i said nothign will ever fill this hole. nothing will ever make any of this okay. i don't even know where to go from here, other than bed.

remember forever what you will someday forget,
jenny