Well suh, if this isn't a good time to start blogging then I don't know when is... The past few weeks have been unbelievable, to say the least. My Dad passed away on June 24, 2009...6 days after his 57th birthday. He had 2 strokes in January and was admitted into the hospital and then into a rehab facility. A few weeks later, he was found unresponsive and was rushed (again) to the hospital. The doctors diagnosed him with pnuemonia; he recovered and was then taken back to the rehab facility. I'd visit him weekly, taking him snacks (he loved to eat!) and updating him on family news or just joking...something we did regularly. I took him some greens once and he ate them so fast I thought I was going to have to perform the Heimlich manuveur on him. He couldn't wait to come home and drive his car, so you could imagine how excited he was when he was finally able to come home and sleep under his roof. I would tease him saying "how are you going to drive when you can't even walk?" His response was, "I'll drive with two feet if I have to, in the slow lane. And if they don't like it, I'll tell 'em HEY(waving his hand in a circular motion) go around." He was always funny, but it seemed like the stroke made him even more funnier. The day he passed away is a day that I will never forget. I was at work and had just gotten back to my desk after taking my morning break. My cell phone rang showing my mother's cell phone number on the caller ID display. I could hear crying, but it sounded like a child; I honestly thought it was my daughter calling me. The voice said Tameka, I think your father passed away. My heart dropped....I gathered my things & I drove as fast as I could to St Joseph's hospital. Angels must have been watching over me because I'm not even sure how I made it there, safe. When I got inside the hospital my sister (Nisha) was coming out of the ER entrance door. She took me into a small room where my mother was waiting, room 6. My sister works in the ER department so I've heard stories about room 6, but I refused to believe that my father was gone. My brother and oldest sister came a few minutes later and we all waited there together, staring at the door waiting for someone to just come in and say he was stable, he was resting, and we could go in & see him....you know, like it always is in the movies. Unfortunately, that movie was not playing. Nisha had walked out and when she returned, the look on her face told us exactly what we did not want to hear; our father, my mothers husband, was gone. I've dealt with death before, but this was nothing like the others. There were so many things that I wanted to say, so many questions that I needed answers to. I felt so much anger & so much pain. Have you ever been on a roller coaster ride and felt like your stomach was still at the top of the track even though you were at the bottom? That is exactly how I felt. I just could not understand how my father was no longer living...he had 2 strokes and recovered, he had pnuemonia, was entubated and placed on a machine that breathed for him and he recovered. Why was this time different, why was he not able to recover??? Now that I look back on that day, the circumstances seem somewhat symbolic. He wanted to come home and drive his car. The day he passed away, he was at a smog shop; his car needed to be smogged for this years registration. Even though he didn't get to physically drive his car, he died doing something he loved...taking care of his car. The ordeal leaves me wondering what would have happened if he had not gone to the smog shop that day, would he still be here with us? Why was it so important for him to go along with my mom to the shop? If he needed something taken care of, he would usually ask my uncle or someone to take care of it for him....why was this issue different? I miss you Daddy, Pops, Old Man, Eat 'em Ups, Big Stan, and Honegry Honegry...all the names I called you. The last time I saw him was the day before he passed, Tuesday. He let me borrow his drill and I was supposed to return it that day. On Wednesday morning, I dropped my daughter off with him and my Mom; I did not get out of the car. As I was backing out of the driveway, my daughter came running outside saying Grandpa said did you bring his drill. I forgot to bring it, again, so I told her to tell him that I would bring it back later on that evening, I promised. You weren't here to see it, but yes Old Man, I did bring your drill back and all the bits. Thank you for letting me use it, and thank you for being my Daddy. I love you and I miss you.