From the house that built me

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As I sit over this post, my morning coffee long gone. The pic, neither here nor there, I wonder how much is to much. Do my readers turn away thinking, "Gah how many post about her dead dad is she gonna write? Where's the funny and bad grammar? You're just a Texas Lifestyle blogger! You're supposed to post pictures of your lush weekend with your newest boytoy and talk about the celebrities of this week on reality TV." Do I run the risk of over-sharing but all the while knowing the honest moments are the most beautiful? Can I really put my scattered thoughts into a few paragraphs without sounding like a bitter soul spending the last few days as a 25 year old thinking of the good ol' days and what could have been.

54: The age 54. The age my Daddy would have been today. Me, a birfday present three days late. The house I haven't lived in in nearly eight years. The house, the "House that built me" nothing but a memory. The neighbors, the neighbors I haven't concerned myself with near enough.

52: The age 52. The age of my most cherished neighbor.

Brent: The neighbor who has always been there for my family. The living father figure I have neglected. The man I went to visit on Sunday because he's dying of cancer.

Shame: the shame I felt when seeing him for the first time in ages.

Tears: the tears I cried for his pain.

Sadness: The sadness I felt for his kids, knowing all to well what happens next.

Anger: the anger I felt towards the doctors for giving up on him and sending him home to die.

Joy: The joy I hid, praying that if it be the lords will he remembers to say hi to my Daddy when he goes.

Questions: The questions I have but never ask. Cause in the end the 'why' isn't important when you remember the Lord will never put you through more than you can bare.

Prayers: The prayers I ask for on behalf of my family and his.

Hope: The hope that the devil will not steal. For it is not over till god says it's over.

The end: In the end I close my eyes and hit publish, for the blog to see
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6 comments

  1. I love your words....I will pray for you and your friends. My daddy was only 48 when he died. And I was a wee 7 year old girl. You can talk about it for as long as you like

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  2. I love that you talk about your dad...I talk about mine much on my blog. He died at 53, five years ago. Sending hugs your way.

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  3. This is YOUR space to write what YOU need too. If someone doesn't want to read it, they can move on.

    On your "stealing" remark - when going through the book of Job, my pastor made a remark I will never forget - God told Satan not to lay a finger on Job himself at first...that means God alone controls life and death...meaning Satan cannot steal a life. Cool, huh? One less worry in this life.

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  4. I don't know how it feels to lose a parent, but I do know that your blog is a place to express what you want to & I think if it's a big part of you then it should be represented on your blog! I'll keep you in my prayers this weekend.

    It was so great meeting you last week Aleshea. I'm following you now! I've got to try some of your recipes, I guess I need to try grits soon for the first time...

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  5. I agree - this is your space and you write about whatever is on your sweet little heart.

    And I am definitely praying!

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  6. You can't talk about it enough, in my opinion. Don't worry about what anyone else thinks!

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