Anniversary

The loss of a loved one for many can cling to one's soul for many years. Some can move onto other things and never give the loss another thought. Some, like me push the loss to the backs of their minds and continue on with their lives and then one day when you reflect back on the years it suddenly hits you.
My father was sort of a hero, an idol of sorts when I was growing up. I did not actually acknowledge this until I decided to become a writer. Even then, back in 1990, I did not cherish as I do now that I am in my late 40's.
Being the oldest of five kids, I suppose I should have set examples and I did. I got more whippings and yelled at than the other kids did until my dad figured he was wasting his breath yelling at me. I have to admit, I deserved most of the spankings I got. I did stupid things and therefore I got spanked (those incidences are stories in themselves).
I honestly do not see how my folks stayed sane with five kids. I see people with one or even two kids, and it simply amazes me my parents weren't sitting in a corner smacking their head against the wall!
My father was a dreamer. He loved the wide open spaces and the Rocky Mountain Range. Nearly every summer west is the way we went on vacations, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Texas and New Mexico. He loved Louis L'Amour and I guess he wanted to go where he had been.
We lived in Memphis most of my childhood in a nice urban area, split level home, nice yard and I'm positive in debt up to their eyeballs. Back in the 60's everyone wanted to be Catholic, and made it a point to keep up with the Joneses, in this case, the Kennedys, J.F.K., that is. I think that after the Martin Luther King riots and civil rights movement, my dad decided he was tired of the rat race. I'm not real sure when he decided to become a writer though. I remember he went to college on the G.I. bill and received his Bachelor's Degree in Sociology and Law Enforcement, and was writing then. He had a den of sorts, I used to marvel at the shelves of books he had (I have many of those books) and would love to have the setup he had. It was definitely off limits to us kids, especially me, I had a tendency to write in and on things and have no recollection as to how many spankings I got because of that. In my defense, I think they should have tried to encourage this and gave me paper.
the vacations to the west I guess must have become mundane, because we went to Canada when I was 11 for the first time. That story will have to be told at another time. All I can say right now is it was an awesome adventure! I promise to write about that another time. The following year my grandparents sold their home in Memphis and moved to Missouri, near Branson on 40 acres of wooded land which eventually became pasture land they rented. Also that same year, we became members of a place, near where my grandparents lived called "The Wilderness Club". Ironically, that's where most of the Memphis Police and their families spent the weekend hanging out at the lodge and swimming area. It also had trails and dirt roads which we trampled on quite a bit for the next two years until we moved to Alaska. That is another story which is going to be told and I hope to have input from family members, my brothers were too young, but my mom and my sister, Cheryl can help fill in things.
The reason for the move to Alaska? My dad the dreamer. By this time, he had a couple of short stories published in campus papers and "gentle men's" magazines and wanted to become a full fledged novelist living in the wilds of Alaska in a log cabin, snowed in during the winters and I don't know if the thought ever occurred to him then or later on it was probably a good thing that it didn't happen. Five kids, couped up in a log cabin, snowed in???? Yeah, you get the picture.
He and another fellow officer decided they had had enough and both families back their belongings, had yard sales, bade farewell to relatives and off we went.
Unfortunately, for them, had they investigated further, they would have discovered we needed to have Eskimo or Alaskan Indian blood in order to establish a homestead. Pretty sad too, since both my dad and his friend staked out land in which they wanted.
It didn't stop dad from achieving what he wanted to do, but it forced him to find employment in the only thing he knew, law enforcement and after living in a motel for a month, we moved to Nome where eventually he became the Chief of Police.
After a series of moves to Washington and Oregon, he finally moved back to Missouri with everyone but me where I stayed and had a decent job and going into my second year in college where I wanted to work in the Forestry department. Of course, that did not work out.
He continued through the years to write, submitting stories and working on novels, a publication here and there. Sometimes the only desk he had was a kitchen table and an electric typewriter.
Then my world fell apart and I moved home to my parents who, by now lived in a two bedroom trailer on my grandparent's 40 acres. Lucky for three of my siblings, my great aunt had passed away and her living quarters were where they slept, then I came along and with a huge bookshelf used as a wall to block out my sisters I had a tiny sleeping area.
In August 1983, I had moved out and was living in an apartment, partying and having a good ol' time when I found out my dad was diagnosed with cancer. By January 1984,it was nearly nine months from the time of diagnosis to his death.
It was twelve years and one day when my grandmother, dad's mom, passed away from Pneumonia.
This year for some reason, I missed my father terribly, I guessed I wanted him to rejoice with me when I got my first short story published and wished that he could of had all the wonderful tools the Internet has brought to the world. Did he accomplish his dream, was it fulfilled? I think if he would have had the opportunity to live longer he would have eventually become a published novelist. He died a happy man, he found part of what he had searched for most of his life and that was peace within by accepting Jesus as his Saviour. It was a transformation I would have never thought to happen to him. He was a hard-nosed cop, calloused, and cussed alot (expect for the f-word). Finding God turned him into a happy man and I know he was at peace with himself and with God. It is my understanding that when he did pass away, the oldest of my brothers, Mike and a family friend were in the room and witnessed a glow fill the room when he died. Dad told his mother the day before he passed that the other side did not look so bad.
A few years back, when my second ex-husband was running the roads doing God knows what, (I knew) I ran across some of his files of stories and the works of one of his novels. After reading several books in a row it hit me that I wanted to write. Call it what you want, but I could have swore that my dad's spirit started nudging me. Apparently, I either ignored the nudge or sent it reeling down the hillside because I pretty much stopped until recently. Again, I started going through his files, feeling the nudge again, only this time, it was subtle. As if to say, it's my choice, but I perhaps had better decide if I will pursue writing or not, get a thick skin because the publishing world is not a pretty place and you have to keep picking yourself up.
I have decided that I will get thick skinned and keep trying. I cannot see myself in another ten years doing the same job I am doing now, although I like it, it sometimes does not like me!
I'm glad I have this blog though. If I have the notion to write, I can come here. I could have kept a journal, but writing long hand is a difficult task, yet I prefer to write my first drafts in long hand. I think that will come to pass too as my hands and fingers are becoming knotted and very sore as the years go by. Good thing I can type!