Dear Dad,

I have this wide assortment of things I wanted to write about this morning on my blog. The blog you used to read every day which is probably one of the things that motivated me every morning to write. I was wanting to write about my hydration pack, or maybe about how much I hate this weird trend of shaming entertainment choices in an attempt to encourage compassion. I also considered writing about the several incidental-but-embarrassing errors I made yesterday. You know, the kind that would normally keep me from sleeping as I replay them over and over and over again? They didn’t last night because I took melatonin to try to turn off the voices. BUT STILL. So many embarrassing errors.

But then I sat down and just thought, Shit…I really miss my Dad.

And I started crying, which I know you would HATE and it would probably make you yell at me, “Dammit, Kim. I didn’t want my death to be a big deal!”

But that’s the thing about losing someone you love, someone who was such a big part of your life, of your heart, of your soul…it’s always going to be a big deal.

When I was overwhelmed with life, you always were quick with a compliment. “I don’t see how you do it.” You said that to me all the time. You were just as in awe of my brother when we would discuss what he was up to. You couldn’t understand how I juggled so many balls and you didn’t every understand how he did so well in a career that you and I would have failed at miserably. You were just never EVER one to hold back in telling us that you were amazed by us and since we put you on such a tall pedestal…those words were priceless.

Maybe this is just one of those days where I need someone to tell me I’m amazing.


That’s not it, because I actually have made a point since you died – consciously or not – to surround myself with positive influences and positive people. Dad? You would love my friends SO MUCH. I wish you could meet them all. Some days when we’re riding our bikes or running through the woods I think, “I might could have talked Dad into moving here after meeting these people.” So it’s not that I need someone to tell me I’m amazing, my friends feed me that energy just as I feed it to them.

I need you to tell me I’m amazing.

I actually cry over missing you more than I like to admit. The kids see it a lot. Sometimes they even know the trigger, like when I was dusting Nikki’s shelf the other day and saw your silly trigonometry book that she just loved so much. Or when I’m talking about how much I wish you were alive to enjoy Sunday Family Dinners. I think maybe I’ve been crying even more over missing you lately, maybe just because life is overwhelming right now and I’m fragile.

Donnie’s Ironman is in two weeks and I so wish you could be there with us to cheer him on. You loved Chattanooga so much and you would have carried the backpack full of water and snacks for me so that my back wouldn’t hurt for the next solid month.

Except, of course, that the blood cancer that killed you so seemingly suddenly, caused microfractures over your entire skeleton and one of the things we talked about regarding your decision to not consider cancer treatment was your sadness over not being able to carry your backpack. The pain was too much.

But in my imaginary world where you’re with us in Chattanooga, you’re obviously cancer-free.

That would be really shitty of me to imagine a world where you were back with us, but still riddled with cancer.

The kids are growing so much, E is about to be old enough to drink, and I’m still me…overwhelmed by my personal life and the life around me. I’m very passionate about a lot of issues both locally and globally – I’m not sure that side of me had really blossomed yet before you died. And lately it just seems like every day there is something upsetting me. The county clerk in Kentucky who still won’t issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples (YEAH! It’s legal nationwide now! You would be so impressed) and today there’s news that our state decided to continue giving tax breaks to corporations and to balance the budget on the backs of our education system because no one wants to raise taxes in any way in this state.

Maybe that’s why I started thinking of you this morning, because you were the most fiscally liberal person I knew. I remember once talking and how you wished there was a program where poor people could get cheap-but-stable modes of transportation. Mainly because the public transportation system in Knoxville was so abysmal so people without means had difficulty finding jobs. You said, “I’d pay more taxes for that, no problem.” You even said that if you thought it would be managed well you’d give all your money in taxes. “I really just need a place to live, my bicycle, and a library card to survive.” I joked with you that you should find a nice commune to join.

So maybe that’s what’s got me missing you this morning. My overwhelming sadness over the state of our state and knowing that you were shockingly (being a kind of stoic engineer) my hippie friend that I could talk civil economics with.

Or maybe it’s Fall. Fall has always been a weird time of year for me. I had a bad Autumn in 1999 and it still leaves me with this residual sadness and anxiety when the temperatures drop. And whenever I’m sad or anxious I miss my grounding phone calls to you more. It’s been 6.5 years and I still miss calling you so bad that I’m sobbing at 4:45am on a Tuesday morning.

I think I need to build a fake day today, Dad. I think I’ll stay off social media for the day and just curate my world – if possible – so that I’m only seeing joy. I think I’ll put blinders on today. I know that’s not a very grown-up thing to do, but I remember doing it after Sandy Hook too – just stepping away from the world delivering me news that I was too fragile to cope with. I guess that without you to ground me, some days I just need to self-preserve. Today is MOST DEFINITELY one of those days.

I guess though, I should maybe also spend the day being positive so that my light can dilute the darkness that I feel like is overwhelming me this morning. Maybe I should shut out the world for the day, just so I can be free to shine my light.

I just miss you so much, Dad. You were always the unique light I needed on my darkest days. The people I love all light my world in their own way, but your light is still missing and some days I can’t see the other light because the darkness left by your death is just too engulfing.

Jeezus. That’s not a very positive way to end this letter to you, is it? Especially considering no part of me believes in a conscious life after death so I’m very knowingly just writing this for myself. Hell, if I honestly believed part of you could see this I would not write it because it would TOTALLY PISS YOU OFF. Nope, this is a letter to myself disguised as a letter to you. So, I should probably try to end it on a higher note.

I’ve been telling the kids your jokes lately. How, if I asked you to make me a sandwich you would hold out an imaginary wand and say, “Poof! You’re a sandwich!” Or how if I asked you to turn off the light you would turn it off, then turn it back on again and leave the room. “You didn’t ask me to leave it off.” Nikki even did that EXACT thing to me last night. I think you would like that, knowing that I have taught my kids how to torture me in the SAME WAY you did when I was a teenager.

Love you, Dad.



Holding On To Grief

I had to get up early for a work related task and as I was mulling over my blog post for the day I thought, Hmmm…maybe I’ll tell everyone about my spicy okra and beans from last night!

If I believed in any sort of life after death I would tell you that my Dad would see that thought and say, “Thank goodness. She’s finally going to let March 31st pass without some sappy entry about how much she misses me.” And while I don’t believe he’s watching over me in any way, it was a little jarring to momentarily forget that today was the day – six years ago – that he left me forever. It was especially shocking to have forgetten because Dad has been on my mind so much lately. Much more so than usual, as I’ve been feeling fresh waves of guilt the last month that almost feel like I said goodbye only yesterday. This has been a surprise, that the depth of the sadness can still feel so vast even six years away. But it has lately – really since the new year – it’s felt vivid and new and painfully raw. His new grandson, Donnie’s Ironman, E’s college experience, my Grand Slam, Wes’s basketball and Nikki’s vocabulary and dialog development…there are so many things over the last six months that have just made me scream to the clouds time and time again: WHY IS HE NOT STILL HERE TO EXPERIENCE THIS?

The sadness has tainted just about every breath I’ve taken these last few months and I’ll be honest – part of me doesn’t want to shake it off. Part of me has felt a renewed closeness to him with this fresh wave of grief, and I wonder if I’m holding onto it as a way to hold on to him. I know that over the last six years I’ve felt that before – a need to hold on to the grief when it hits. So part of me kinda got mad at myself this morning: Zoot! Okra? How could you be thinking about OKRA on the anniversary of your Dad’s death? I was mad I had momentarily stuck my head out of this fog of sadness and forgotten about how much I missed him.


But I know that’s silly. If there’s anything this wave of pain has taught me is that no amount of time will fade the grief forever. While part of me fears that letting the sadness pass means that a part of him passes again, I know that is not how it works. I know that time does not build an insurmountable wall protecting me from sadness forever – it only builds small barrier that keeps it at bay so I can live my life. But the grief – it’s always there and letting go now doesn’t not mean I’m saying goodbye again.

I turn 40 in July, but in my heart I’ll always be a Daddy’s girl.

I miss you so much, Dad. Tears trickle down my face as I try to find new pictures of you that I’ve not shown before, because I didn’t know during any of these moments that you’d be gone so soon. I would give anything to have these moments back again.






I Win The Battle Of The Necklaces.

A few months ago I sent my friend a message with this picture and said something like, “Hey…could you use some copper?”


Because…you know…that’s a completely normal question to ask someone, right?

You see…my Dad grew up in a large family that didn’t have a lot and he was VERY MUCH of the No Waste, Ever mindset. If he came across ANYTHING in his day-to-day life that was even REMOTELY useful in ANY way…he kept it. We had stacks of yogurt cups on top of the microwave because they made good drinking cups for camping. He brought home wood crates that hospital equipment was shipped in, and he made furniture out of it. He made flashcards for us out of old punchcards used for programming.

So, needless to say, his house was full of a lot of things that he thought…ONE DAY…he might make use of. And copper, being just a valuable metal to begin with, definitely seemed worth keeping in his eyes. And even though we donated 90% of his stuff to the Knoxville Rescue Mission, I couldn’t let go of the copper. It didn’t take up much space in my life and I just felt like…some day…it might be useful.

Maybe that insanity is genetic?

But then my friend started a business making upcycled jewelry. And she did a LOT of work with metals….namely copper. She made jewelry out of pennies and I just fell in love with everything so I thought, “I bet she could do something with this.”

And she did. She took the tubing and made beads out of it. I have no idea the science or craft behind this task…all I know is that THIS is what she put in my hands last night and I freakin’ cried. We were in public, at a restaurant with other writers from Rocket City Mom and I freakin’ cried like a baby. Because y’all? My Dad would have just ADORED THIS. He would have been all, “SEE. This is what I’m talking about! Why throw this stuff away???”

And it would have totally validated every weird thing he had in his basement/garage.



You can click on the photos to open up bigger copies to see the details and the colors of the beading. SERIOUSLY. LOOK AT IT. It’s truly amazing. I can’t even contain the love I have for this piece of jewelry.

So…yeah. Don’t be jealous, is basically the point of this entry.

My necklace is the best.

Dad took selfies long before it was cool.


Today is (would be?) my Dad’s birthday. I thought about doing a “Dear Dad” entry like I’ve done before, but that always rings a little false since I don’t believe in any sort of afterlife.

I used to pray a lot back when I was a believer, and I miss that feeling of just talking into the void. Some nights I start…and think, “Hey Dad…” but it just feels weird. Same as when my faith was fading and I would try to pray. When you don’t believe? You just don’t believe. And pretending doesn’t do anything for me.

These last few months I’ve been more stressed than usual, sleeping poorly, worried about more than usual – and thinking about talking to him just reminds me how much I miss talking to him. Then I end up just crying from the pain of losing him all over again.

He’s been gone over 5 years now, but at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts and that hole in my heart? It feels like it was only yesterday.

There are still so many things I long to tell him. From science news like the success of the first launch of Orion, to family news like Donnie’s new job. Man…I know he’d love to talk to Donnie about that…there are so many stories Donnie comes home with and I know my Dad would have loved to hear them. I think he would have been a software developer if he had been born in our generation, the logic of coding would have totally appealed to him.

I think the thing I wish he could see the most is E as an adult. He has turned out to be such an amazing man. Dad would have ADORED his since of humor. He would have laughed his ass off at this tweet:

He would have been fascinated by his college and the artsy-fartsy nature of the student body. Dad would have gone to the big competition of battling musicals in February and would have ADORED the battling cheers/chants/songs of the night. He would have been as intrigued by Greek Life as I have been and would have been amazed that E held down 3 jobs last semester and still ended up with good grades. Dad didn’t really know my other two kids, but he knew E and seeing the adult he turned out to be would have just blown his mind. He would be beyond proud and that’s probably the thing I regret the most that he can’t see.

Of course he would love our adventures in fitness and my trail running. Dad was an outdoorsman, hoped to hike the AT some day…but I don’t know if he ever knew about trail running. He was a 5K’er himself…ran that distance several times a week up until he got sick. He would have loved for me to show him some of my favorite trails. He also would have been at Donnie’s Ironman, covering the entire 16 miles on foot with me as we spectated the entire day.

I miss him terribly. I still cry regularly over the pain of missing him. Time does make things easier. I can think about him and not hurt every time. But, man, especially lately when I’ve just been so tired and stressed…I just miss him so much still. Some days I just need him to be here, to talk to me, to hug me, and I feel like if I cry hard enough…maybe he’ll come back? I guess the child in me is still banking on some sort of movie magic in my life that – if I need him enough – will give me just one more moment with him.

Alas, there’s no movie magic in my life. He’s gone. While he was alive, he and I took turns forgetting each other’s birthdays, but in the years since he’s been gone the birthday hits me like a ton of bricks every year. I wish I could forget it again, honestly. Especially weeks like this one where I’m stressed and tired and just an emotional basketcase to begin with…his birthday does not drift gently. It slaps me in the face with the painful reminder than the man who raised me is gone and my two younger children will never even know him.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Sometimes I’m really mad at you for leaving me so early.

Dad took selfies long before it was cool.

Dad took selfies long before it was cool.

Dad in the kitchen after one of his meals. Notice how little E is. *sob*

Roast and Turkey.

My Dad was NOT a cook by any means. He actually often discussed his confusion over why people would “slave away” in the kitchen for hours, just to create a meal that is eaten in 15 minutes. He once sat in the kitchen while I was cooking something and said, “So, where do you think this came from? You’re desire to cook meals like this? Because I know it didn’t come from me.”

He had a few staples. Frozen eggrolls. (Which I hated.) Frozen fishsticks. (Which I loved.) Cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew. (Loved.) And Oatmeal. (Loved.) For the most part mealtime was just an “On your own” type of experience as I got older. There was always stuff for sandwiches. Always cereal. I don’t know…maybe there was more, but I absolutely only have memories of those options on an average day on an average week.

BUT! For some reason, he liked to roast a turkey and cook a pot roast at least once a year. And y’all? There is no one in the world who put less effort into both meals than my Dad, but because it was SO RARE and it felt like such a HUGE EFFORT compared to his other meals, I would always get REALLY excited. Those meals usually revolved around a holiday, and it just depended on how the holiday fell for us from year to year. Were we spending Thanksgiving with extended family? Doing Christmas Dinner with Mom? If so – then the Turkey or the Roast might actually be 2 days after Christmas. Or the Monday following Thanksgiving. Either way – at least once a year we had at least one of those things.


Us eating his turkey and potatoes. That’s the table we ate at. And our place settings. I am not lying about our glamorous upbringing in the slightest.

The turkey: He roasted in the oven with packaged stuffing in the cavity and carrots/celery smooshed in and around it. BAM. That was it. No spices. No brining. Maybe a little bit of painting with butter but it was all packaged stuffing, carrots and celery. AND I LOVED IT. I still – to this day – think it’s the best turkey in the world. I tried to do exactly what he did one year but mine sucked. I think a lot of the “OMG THIS IS DELICIOUS!” memories I have relate more to the emotions than the actual taste. It may have been dry as hell (he did always try to make gravy but it was often a failure) but there was always boxed Mashed Potatoes to go with it and OH MY GOD…I LOVED BOXED MASHED POTATOES.

Basically – the point is – set the standards low for your children.

His roast was about the same. He had an ancient slow cooker – probably one of the first made – and he was still using it even up until he died. He put the meat, some potatoes and some carrots, and kept enough water in it to keep from drying, and BAM! Pot Roast! AND IT WAS SO GOOD. I remember telling him once, “This is way better than Dinty Moore Beef Stew” and he said, “Yeah, but that’s much easier.”

Which is hysterical because his pot roast was SO EASY.

Dad in the kitchen after one of his meals. Notice how little E is. *sob*

Dad in the kitchen after one of his meals. Notice how little E is. *sob*

My kids probably won’t have any specific meals stick out for them because we do cook a lot in this house. And I do a wide range of meals. And maybe this is good for their diets, but I’m sad that there won’t be any ONE thing that sticks out in the memories like it does mine. I’m just so grateful for those memories and those meals and I appreciate that Dad took at least 1 or 2 days a year to cook a meal that required SO MUCH EFFORT.

(Those of you in charge of Thanksgiving this year are probably thinking, “Man…if only I could put that little effort into MY turkey/dressing/stuffing.)

I think I mentioned once to Dad about my fond memories of those meals and I think he was entertained by it because – even he realized how minimal they were on the grand scale of things. At least I hope I mentioned it.

Do you have any specific memories of great meals your parents cooked?