I just need to vent about life. For the most part it is good. It has just been a rough day and a rough week and I am done. It was Memorial Day weekend. So the whole family went to Kanarra. It's the first time since my dad died. I think that made it hard for my mom. She said she felt like she didn't have a place, and I can totally see why. But being the genius that she is, Debbie brought a huge bottle of rum, and my mom got totally smashed on it. Like black out drunk. She peed all over the bedding and the floor and it is just so... so... disheartening. She has been seemingly doing so well, but apparently she has us all fooled.

I have always liked working at Chuck. But lately it has sucked. I get shitty shifts, none of which are with my friends. I have started taking anxiety meds just to get through my shift. It's awful. I am looking for a new job, but I feel so out of place. I don't know what I really qualify for and I am afraid that I will look like an idiot when it comes down to it.

I just feel a little discouraged today. I wish my dad was here.

My dad died. I swear I never thought the day would come, and I feared it would come every day all at once. And now it has happened. It is terrible to have your dad die. Especially when your dad was as special and good as mine. He always loved me so much and I loved him so much. I never had any doubt that he would do anything and everything for me. The last couple of years have been heartbreaking. My dad started to lose his memory. Some days he would remember everyone and everything, other days he would say things and not remember two minutes later. He repeated himself a lot. There was a lot of tension between my mom and him in the early days of him getting dementia. He would say things about the past that I truly hope were not true, and my mom would believe him, not realizing that his mind had deteriorated. Things got worse and worse. Then he fell and broke his hip. I did not realize that he would never walk again. I thought he would be able to recover. He never did. Then he went into a nursing home. The one I remembered going to as a little girl and being horrified. It had improved, but I didn't want my dad there, so when my mom thought it was a good idea to bring him home, I agreed. That was a mistake. He atrophied. His muscles got weaker and weaker. He got a catheter. My mom spun out of control. Both of them were broken, him physically, she mentally. My mom tried to commit suicide. Several times. We got my dad into the hospital and back into a nursing facility. This time it felt like a dream come true, because I knew he was being taken care of. He got better. His mind was a little better, his body was improving, he was joking and smiling and teasing the CNAs. He didn't always know who I was. He knew he loved me, but didn't always know my name. My mom continued to spiral even more out of control. She was drinking, abusing pills, lying, depressed, overwhelmed. It was like living in a nightmare that wouldn't end. My entire life was being stretched thin. Besides the bulk of the issues with my parents I was struggling in school, in my faith, in my marriage.... I had never felt more alone. Many things have recovered. But my parents continued to decline. My dad was a sweet spot in my heart. Because he didn't remember anything short term, he didn't remember all the trouble that had been going on for the last year. I could go visit him often and his face would light up to see me. He still made me feel special. He kissed me on the lips and told me he loved me. He forgot our inside jokes. He no longer remembered my childhood nickname or that when I said I loved him the most, he was supposed to say that he loved me the mostest, and then I would say back, no I love you the mostest, mostest, mostest. He loved my kids, although sometimes he thought Jovi was me as a little girl, and in the same breath he knew me. He never really forgot reese. I think sometimes he forgot his name, but that bond that they developed as my dad babysat him did not fail him. Little Ace tolerated our visits, and my dad would ask where the baby was, only remembering him as an infant. I went shopping the day my dad died. I bought him a shirt that morning. I did not have any inkling that he was going to pass away. There had been so many close calls, that when I heard he was sick, I just assumed he would get better like he always had. I didn't rush to get to his bedside. When I got there, his lips were blue and he was shaking in pain. I still assumed the best. We called in hospice for morphine, and after that he was able to sleep. He died a few hours later. I wish I would have realized that it was really the end. I know that I told him all the things I needed to, but I wish I would have been there sooner. He passed away soon after my kids has given him kisses and said goodbye. There were lots of tears. I hope he is with his family. I hope he knows how much I love and adore him. I hope he visits me in my dreams. I hope he remembers me like he used to. Because I will never, ever forget him.