I absolutely love the name "Odette."

There is one memory that clearly stands out among all the rest from my childhood. I'm laying in front of a fireplace, about 2 feet from a huge television set, smell of Daddy's incense in the air, paint drying on ceramics, and probably somewhere in the house a hint of marijuana (that i didn't know was marijuana at the time) and my dad telling me to move back from the TV or i'd grow up and have terrible vision. I was at my Uncle Bernie's house, and I was coloring out of my favorite coloring book, and watching my favorite movie that I only had at his house... The Swan Princess. When I think about that night in particular, I can hear my dad talking to me... and it's one of my only memories of him speaking where I actually remember his voice.

My dad was probably the best and worst father ever. He was a legitimate addict. He smoked pot alllll the time, was addicted to narcotics, and drank...sometimes. He was manipulative, and probably emotionally abusive, but he loved me, and told me so every day... most of the time more than once. he tucked me in at night, and let me crawl into bed with him after a "nightmare" that i'm sure he knew was completely fabricated so i wouldn't have to sleep alone. there were so many nights where i'd just lay next to him, reading over his shoulder, and imagining what he was reading, and how it fit into the plot. I'd always ask him to read me his leather bound Louis L'Amour books, but he said they were for "grown ups." ha. I practically was. He really loved me, all the time, but he yelled at me when he was coming down, and it was usually for no reason, or for something little that didn't deserve a swat on the butt or a slap on the hands for. I was sent crying to my room, and later on, after he had completely sobered up, he'd apologize and he'd cry and say he'd never do it again... but he did.

Anyway. He was a great dad when he wasn't high. He took me for walks, we went hunting, fishing... anything I could think of to spend time with him. I can remember him calling me his little stinker, and calling me Shelly-bug. My mom did too, but she said it differently than he did. I didn't like it when she said it, I much preferred just "shelly" from her...

Here's the problem. On New Years Day, 2001, A police officer knocked on my door. He took my mom into another room and told her something terrible, that I later learned from my grandmother. See, my mom couldn't even look at me without crying, and I was supposed to go to my grandmother's house anyway. My parents had gone through a divorce when I was really young (i'm talking like, 1-2 years) and I'd grown up around my Grandma Kyte. These grandparents were like my second set of parents, so I trusted both of them, which was unusual for me. That day, the day before my 9th birthday, I found out that my daddy, the one I loved so very much, had committed suicide. Yep, my daddy died on new years eve... December 31, 2000, only 2 days before his only daughter's birthday. 4 months later, his second daughter Sarah was born.

Now, the real reason for this blog post.

My dad has been gone for 10 years. I'm 19 now, and I don't think the pain really ever goes away. I mean, yeah, it's not the "shot through the heart" pain I had the day I found out, but it's gone to that aching, yearning pain, the kind where you have a really close friend that goes away and you can't see them, talk to them, or communicate with them for a very long time. The sucky thing is, with that friend, you can always find them, and visit them... I can't do that when my dad isn't alive. Sarah's birthday was the 15th, and I missed her party. It's the first one I've missed since (i believe) number 3. Today, I took her out for lunch, gave her a present (a college logo shirt, she loved it) and hung out with her and my mom. Tonight, my friend Jared took me out for dinner (albeit a cheap dinner, thank God, I hate it when people spend lots of money on me) and then we went back to his house to talk to his mom (whom I adore) and then usually either listen to music or watch a movie.

As I was flipping through his netflix, I came across The Swan Princess. I begged and pleaded, and finallyyy convinced Jared to watch it. And as soon as I heard the credits, I was sitting on the edge of my seat indian style about 2 feet from the screen. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I heard my dad's voice telling me to scooch back so I didn't grow up to be as blind as he was. Out of habit, i switched my position to laying down on my stomach about 3 feet from the screen, and heard a "thats at least a little better." I laughed. Jared just looked at me funny.

That's when I realized that the last time I'd seen that movie was that night... the night at Uncle Bernie's. and then I realized that they're both gone now. My Daddy in 2001, and my Great-Uncle Bernie only a year or two ago. I'd never get that smell of incense and ceramic paint mixed with the pleasant aroma of other herbs, fireplace, and crayons. I'd never hear my Daddy tell me (or my kids for that matter, when they come) that I was sitting too close to the TV. and I realized that I missed him, so much more than I'd thought.

His birthday is coming up, May 12. It's on a Thursday this year, and it happens to be almost at the end of finals week. I don't know how I'm going to get through, but I'm certain that with the help from my mom, my friends and probably a lot from my counselor, I will. And I'm not going to drink, I'm not going to smoke or anything else. I need to get past this. I need to tell myself that even though he's not here, he's still watching me, and he's that voice in the back of my head telling me i'm way too damn close to that TV and I need to back up.

I miss you, Daddy, and I love you. I'll see you later. Much later. And boyy, will you have some s'plainin' to do.



Side note: Odette is the main character in The Swan Princess. and it's a f@%#ing kickass movie. watch it. Right now. It's on Netflix Instant Queue. (Also, if you see it on DVD, and you buy it for me, I will [probably] kiss you.)

Tootles.


p.s. Happy Easter, everybody.