“David Foster's Kicking Kidney Cancer’s Arse”

Well I made it!

Thank you to all of you who posted comments last week.  I was going to come back on the 15th and post a little something, but I just couldn't.  I don't know why, but even on my own blog, I remained silent.  Maybe because writing is so personal for me, as it was for my Dad.  Writing on that day just seemed impossible.  Granted I had inadvertently filled my schedule with appointments and functions as to avoid moments when my mind could settle on the subtle reminders of my dad.  But I still could not escape.  I may have told you this before, but I never deleted my dad's number from my phone.  And on Wednesday, I was scrolling through my phone book looking for a friend's number when I saw his.  I almost dialed it just to see if he would answer. 

Maybe it's all been some kind of weird dream. If that were the case though, it would mean the last year never happened, which would mean that my daughter, Madison, would not exist.  You know what kills me?  He didn't even know she existed.  She wasn't conceived until after he passed.  Granted right after he passed, but still.  His eighth and probably final grandchild would come into the world unbeknown to him.  Of course none of my kids will remember him.  Even if they had seen him daily, which they didn't, they would still have no recollection of David Foster, though there are many ties to him.

My oldest shares Dad's middle name, Crawford.  On the same day we went in for our big sonogram, Dad found out his had cancer.  Two days after Owen was born, my dad had his kidney removed.  Blake, my middle child, shares many of Dad's facial features, definitely a Foster child.  I see Dad every time I look at him, especially when he is in time out.  He inherited Dad's "eat shit" look.  And my youngest, little Madison, was conceived in the wake of his death.  It's a really good thing I don't believe in reincarnation.  Although wouldn't that be hell for Daddy, to come back as his daughter's daughter.  Talk about karma (which I don't believe in either).

Some of you have sent me personal emails, which I love to read, and have asked me about how I dealt with my dad's death at the time.  I blogged.  This weekend I went back through all my posts and tagged the ones that talked about Dad.  If you'd like to read about it, you may.  My blog is www.hillsofchoas.blogspot.com.  On the right hand side is a list of labels (tags).  Just click on "Dad".

One Year Tomorrow

Yes, I know...I have not been faithful in updating the blog.  I've thought about it several time over the last year, but I allowed life to distract me.  Distraction.  That is the appropriate word, isn't it? After all, I am my father's daughter.  I've journeyed through most of this year pretending like April 15, 2008 never happened, or trying to at least.  Dad's cell phone number is still programmed into my phone.  Sometimes I think if I call it, he'll answer and I'll wake up from this horrible dream.  But we all know that's not going to happen. 

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary.  One year!  That's a whole heck of a lot of distraction.  The Master's happened this past week in Augusta, which in the words of my dad, "I don't give a shit."  But sure enough, they remind me of him, of those five weeks in Augusta, GA, ofhim saying those very words.  Even sitting in church, a place he didn't much frequent, on Easter Sunday, I was reminded of how I spent last Easter driving down to Georgia two toddlers in tow.  Everything lately reminds me of him, even the devilish look in my two year old's eyes when he's on the brink of disobedience.

And then I think of what he's missed this part year.  The birth of his eighth grandchild he didn't even know was on the way, the inauguration of America's first black president, a plane crash where everyone survived,  just to name a few. I'm sure you all have things you'd want to tell him if he were still here.  Well, that's what I'm doing tomorrow and I invite you to join me.  I'm writing a letter to Dad just to fill him in, to let him know we're all okay down here (or maybe we're not). 

Not sure how many people still check in from time to time, but I thought some might come back for the anniversary and I wanted to be here to greet you.  You were all so near and dear to his heart.  I've made it so all comments can be posted freely, no approvals required, so speak freely (and cleanly).