Where Have I Been? Why Haven’t I Written?


Dearest Readers:

While I only have a few minutes to write something, I thought it was past the time to explain why I haven’t been online, or writing.

Let’s see. Just where do I begin? In mid August, my husband and I met with a Realtor to discuss placing our home on the market. I listened to him. I was definitely negative about selling our home; however, after researching the area where I live, I realized I would be a fool not to list it. After all, I do not want certain people to have their hands out when the time comes that I leave this earth. Those guilty know who they are, and all I’ll say is – there’s a big surprise coming!

Yes. We are selling our home. We’ve placed a contract on another home, contingent upon our home selling quickly. Please, God. Let this house sell quickly. Let an investor discover it would be a great home to flip – identical to all of the new, white mansions built around this community.

Meanwhile, while our home is on the market, actually before it went on the market, we decided to move a few pieces of furniture, to open the area. This led to ‘pre-packing’ and trashing lots of stuff. I’ve packed so many boxes, brutalizing my once well-manicured nails. I’ve donated to Goodwill. Now they have lots of recipe books and fiction in their stores. I’ve filled up two garbage containers (three times) with stuff I decided it was time to simply trash. Someone said I should have a yard or an estate sale. Heck, planning those takes time, and I’m in a rush to get my life back again.

We’ve lived in this home for 42 years. It is time to open a new chapter…to start a new journey…and to build a new life. Please, readers, pray that our home sells quickly. I do not wish to unpack all that I’ve packed for a new home until we get moved.

I have a free entertainment center to give away. I will not post it on CraigsList, or Facebook. I simply want this monster gone!

Moving requires work, and I am just a bit exhausted.

So now readers, you know why I haven’t posted anything lately. I don’t recall sending emails either. Text. I’m getting fairly smart about texting now. And now, I must go back to packing and sorting more books for Goodwill.

More later, readers.

Hurricane Dorian — After Thoughts


Dearest Readers:

Today is Saturday, September 7, 2019. Looking out the windows, I see beautiful sunshine, just like yesterday morning. Finally, we have power. It is so nice to awaken, even though I really haven’t slept, to the coolness of air conditioning. The humming of ceiling fans. The comfort of my pups, happy again now that the blackness has disappeared. Freshly brewed coffee! Oh. Happy. Day!

Hurricane Dorian arrived in the Charleston, South Carolina coastlines like disgruntled tourists, determined to make her presence known. At exactly 1:00 a.m. Thursday morning, our power faded into total blackness. Shadow, my giant schnauzer, was sleeping with me on that night of little sleep for me, and when he heard the air conditioner and fan go quiet, he screamed a bark of horror. I awoke, rushing my fingers across the bed to comfort him; nevertheless, he continued barking his tempestuous tone of fear. Finding my iPhone on the bed, I hit the flashlight, got out of bed, yawning from exhaustion. Shadow followed me as we walked around the house. In the distance, I heard a loud, threatening roar. Dorian was here.

Carefully cracking the back door, the winds rushed inside, forcing the door to open. Shadow rushed outside. I held the iPhone high, noting the rushing, angry winds flapping trees, swaying back and forth. I listened to the sounds of the winds, imagining a roaring lion hungry for food while hunting her prey.

I heard a croaking sound, fearful. I’ve never heard a frog croak so strange before. I looked around the ground, hoping to find the frog. A hummingbird flew next to my face. I held my hand out, hoping it would land on my hand so I could keep it safe. The hummingbird flew away into the storm. The croaking continued. Searching frantically, I wanted to save the frog, only I couldn’t.

Although it was 1:00 a.m., I shouted for Shadow to come inside. He pranced around while the winds reminded me of a vacuum system. The winds inhaling deeply. Exhaling with a torrential downpour of rain. Shadow. Shadow. Come inside please, Shadow. I wanted to rush after him, but he zig-zagged across the yard, barking so hard I was afraid he would awaken neighbors. While he rushed across the yard, I could not see him at all. He blended in to the blackness of night. The only way I could determine his location was through his barking. He sounded like he wanted to tear Dorian apart. I was horrified Dorian might lift him up, tossing him around, tearing him apart. The winds were so strong, reminding me of the tornadoes I’ve lived through. I thought of the movie THE WIZARD OF OZ, wishing I could tap my red shoes to fly safely away with Shadow. My husband, Phil, slept soundly — like he always does with a hurricane.

I had difficulty finding Shadow since our outside lights were off. The downpours of rain gushed in sheets. I stepped outside, finding it difficult to breathe. Shadow. Come inside boy. Please!

Something brushed across my leg. Shadow! His fur was soaked. I grabbed towels to dry him. He licked my face. Boy. That’s a hurricane out there. You will not go outside again! While drying his waterlogged body, I felt his entire body trembling. Shadow detests storms. On a normal rainy day, he is hesitant to go outside. Normally, he will brace his four legs stiff, refusing to move outside. I suppose he wanted to make certain we would be safe in the wrath of Dorian.

Wrapping my arms around Shadow, we cuddled for a bit. The windows of our home are sealed tightly although I could still hear the roaring lion of Dorian. She screamed with an earth-shattering breath of determination. Shadow whined. It’s ok, boy. Mommy will keep you safe. He moved closer to me. I checked the back door, to make certain it was locked, then Shadow and I moved to the den.

Listening to the storm in the blackness of a night of terror, I prayed. Please God, keep us safe. Keep our neighborhood safe and let all of us survive without destruction.

I checked weather alerts on my phone. Category Three. Hurricane Dorian storms into Charleston. Later, as the dawn of morning arrived, I watched pine trees bending over. I opened the front door of my home, just to see how strong the winds were. The gusts of Dorian’s winds thrust the door open, hitting the wall. No doubt Dorian was an angry lion. Roaring. Screeching. Gusting. Thrusting. She wanted inside.

Stepping outside, the porch was soaked. Somehow we forgot to remove our American flag. It had fallen onto the ground. I’ve got to get it. We don’t allow the American flag on the ground. Please God, keep me safe. Rushing carefully to reach the flag, my clothing was soaked. I grabbed the flag. It flapped onto my face, as if to say thank you. Fighting to close the door, I placed the saturated flag in an urn in the foyer and locked the front door.

If only I had a nice steaming cup of coffee. My head pounded. I’ve had migraines since I was nine-years-old, after I was hit by a car. The crown of my head was as soft as a newborn baby’s head after I was tossed around, thrown from the hood of the car onto concrete. Reportedly, the only thing that saved me was the fact that the force of the impact knocked me out and I flew around like a rag doll. I remember hitting the hood, the wind escaping me. When I awoke, my body rested on the concrete sidewalk. People stood around, looking at me. Opening my eyes, I saw my father. He touched me. “Are you all right?” He said, looking horrified.

When I have a migraine, it affects my cognitive abilities. I have a tendency to struggle to speak correctly at times. Stuttering. Now that Hurricane Dorian was here, the pressure gave me headaches. I don’t remember having such headaches during other hurricanes, but this headache lasted for three days.

Thursday morning and afternoon I remained close to Shadow and my other pups. All of them wanted to cuddle so I rubbed them. My fingers combing their fur. Soothing. Calming. Hearing a loud thump outside, I reminded the dogs to stay. They obeyed, while whining. They did not wish to be alone.

I grabbed an umbrella, opened the back door, walking outside. Opening the gate to the side yard, the wind blew it closed. Determined, I pulled the gate open, walking outside. I knew it wasn’t safe, but I wanted to know what the noise was.

A huge tree branch fell onto the road, barely missing my husband’s rental car. Checking my phone to make certain it had power, I posted a road was blocked due to the storm on Nextdoor.com.

Exhausted from fighting to get back into the house, I decided to take something for my headache. The barometric pressure left the crown of my head so tender I ached. The dogs and I went to the bedroom. No sleep for me, but I listened to the sounds of three dogs inhaling. Exhaling. Sleeping.

Meanwhile, Dorian continued attacking her angry visit to the City of Charleston.

For over 40 hours we lacked electricity. We drove around a bit, finding a 7-11 open, cash only. Several people entered the store to get a few items, only to be told it was “Cash only.” A couple of these people ranted, cursing. “What do you mean – cash only? I’ve got a debit card!”

“Never been in a hurricane before,” I said. “You must be new to our community. Welcome to Charleston. During hurricanes debit cards do not work. Nor do credit cards! Welcome to the dark ages! “

After surviving so many hurricanes that teased Charleston I knew what to do.

*Cash. You must have cash!

*Make certain your car has a full tank of gas.

*Be kind to neighbors.

This has truly been a LONG WEEK for Charleston residents. A mandatory evacuation was proclaimed on Monday, Labor Day. All schools were closed. Interstate 26 was reversed. Traffic seemed to be moving rapidly. In all reality I don’t believe many people chose to evacuate. The storm predictions revealed Hurricane Dorian would arrive on Thursday. No doubt many people would lose income this week, all from a hurricane.

For three days, I did not wear makeup or style my hair. I simply forgot to unpack my ‘hurricane curlers.’ No doubt I looked and felt like a tattered rag doll. Friday morning, with the sun shining brightly and the threat of Dorian gone, I found those curlers. Due to the humidity and clamminess inside our home, it took seven hours for my hair to look “decent.”

Today is Saturday. I have much work to do in the front and back yards. Tree branches to pick up. Raking and getting our lives back together again.

Today’s forecast is 84 degrees. I suppose I should get busy and start to work.

Another hurricane survived — now — “Gone With the Wind!”

More Rain – Hurricane Dorian – Day Three


Dearest Readers:

Just another quick update. Yesterday, while we were doing a few errands. I noticed the amount of cars on the roads. I really believe most of our community is staying home. Lots of traffic, although it moved well.

Today, we are in anticipation of greeting Hurricane Dorian. Earlier, we had torrential rains and winds. Now, at 10:29 am, we have a few winds. Birds are still flying around, so all is well. At times DirecTV freezes, but that isn’t anything unusual.

I suppose I’ll update again later. In the event you do not find additional posts after this one, it is because we are not in civilization at the moment!

I’ve attempted to count the number of hurricanes I’ve tolerated here in Charleston, SC but I cannot recall the number. I was here during Hurricane Hugo, resting and working in the Cigar Factory building with 60 students. Floyd was another. Ah Heck. Who counts their experience with hurricanes?

More later! Stay safe and stay tuned!

Hurricane Dorian – Day Two


Dearest Readers:

Today is Day Two of Hurricane Dorian anticipation. Are we ready? Of course!

We’ve been on this roller coaster before, and I confess, I do not care for roller coasters! During Hurricane Hugo, I stayed with 60 students at the college where I was employed. Yes. 60 students! Most of them I knew. Believe me, during the hurricane, I got to know many of them! What I discovered is the stronger the students acted, the weaker they were, and the most horrified.

Today, I have the Weather Channel on, listening to when the prediction of Hurricane Dorian is predicted to arrive. Although I haven’t confirmed the news, I’ve been told that Charleston is basically a ghost town. No traffic to fight! Also, reportedly, a few of the Cracker Barrels are closed. It will be interesting to see if and when Waffle House closes. I’m certain you’ve probably seen the signs posted on highways previously saying “Waffle House is open,” on Christmas Day.

Perhaps later today, I’ll hop in the car and drive around, just to see how Mount Pleasant is preparing for Dorian – a feisty female hurricane with a strong breath of wind.

We have water. Food. Fruit. Doggie treats. We’ve been on this roller coaster before. We will survive. Reportedly, Dorian will be a category two when she dances into Charleston. We have been home since Saturday. Today is Tuesday. I think I’m ready to get out of this house and tour Mount Pleasant without traffic.

Perhaps I do need a break. There’s much too MUCH stress in my life now. Perhaps I’ll share a bit of that news when the stress breaks and all decisions are finalized. As for now, I need another cup of coffee, in preparation of Dorian.

Have I said I detested “hurricane season?” Looks like additional storms are brewing in the Atlantic too. Hurricane Juliette is brewing somewhere.

Someone yesterday stated they always name hurricanes after women. I set him straight on Facebook rather quickly, letting him know that during the Feminist movement, which I was a part of, it was decided that hurricanes should rotate the names between men and women. Isn’t it about time? Men are just as unpredictable as women. Hugo is a male name and he pounded into the Charleston Harbor as a Category Four!

As for Dorian, I think she needs to simply fade away! More later, readers!

Hurricane Dorian


Dearest Readers:

This will be a short post. I promise! If you are following weather reports, then you must know, we are probably in the path of Hurricane Dorian.

What’s the latest? When will it hit? I haven’t a clue. I turned the television off earlier after listening to the reports most of the morning.

As for Charleston, I-26 has been reversed to West bound only. With all the growth we’ve had within the lowcountry, I believe our leaders (and some of those are questionable) realized after Hurricane Floyd in 1999, people residing in Charleston cannot get out of the hurricane’s way unless roads are reversed.

See, in this lovely city that so many tourists love, Charleston does not believe OR PLAN — for growth. Subdivisions are built without additional infrastructure. Builders and developers LOVE to build here – since most of them do not live here. Why would they care about traffic???

Enough. I didn’t mean to get started on my latest complaint about Charleston, South Carolina – HOME OF THE GOOD OLE BOYS!

i’ll do my best to write additional reports about Hurricane Dorian later. Perhaps tomorrow. For now, since it is Labor Day, I suppose I should labor and do a few things around this house. After all, in the South, we always have a clean, sparkling house when guests arrive. If Hurricane Dorian is a-coming, I want to make my best impression when I rush to close the door on her and let her know she is not welcomed to come inside my home.

Reminiscing While Fighting Depression


Dearest Readers: It’s been a while since I’ve posted. I’ve been depressed. Extremely busy. Overwhelmed. Stressed. Too many things happening right now. Sometimes, my hands shake. I do my best to relax. To cope. Telling myself ‘this too shall pass.’ Then, I find myself thinking of my father, Walter W. Perkins. ‘If only I could talk to him. He’d cheer me up. He’d tell me to keep my chin up. He’d ask me to smile, my beautiful dimply smile. He’d remind me to hold my head high. The world is my pearl, and I should grab it in my hands and hold it tight. Yes. Dad would boost my spirits, and I would feel the burdens of life releasing from my chest. The tears falling on my cheeks would cease to exist. I would breathe a long deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. You’re going to be all right. Sometimes I do not feel all right. It’s challenging to move forward when someone so significant to my life is suddenly gone. After I lost my dad on July 6, 1999, I had a vision – a visit from him – on September 9, 1999. It was early morning, barely dusk. I felt something touch my left foot. “Yes,” I whispered. My toe wiggled. I glanced at my toe, seeing a vision of a man – my father – dressed in white clothing. He said: “Barbara. You need to move forward. Stop grieving about me. I’m all right. I’m happy. You must move forward. Let me go. I’m all right. I’m. All. Right.” I rose from the bed. The vision was gone.

Initially, I planned to write about my father on July 6. Instead, I was busy. So. Busy. Can’t recall what I did, but the day passed away, just like my father did on that sad day. I remember the nurses telling me they could bring him back. Just say the words, Barbie. We can bring him back. I couldn’t. I remained in a chair. Tears rushing down my face. Yes. I wanted to say bring him back but, I knew better. His quality of life had disappeared. He was so weak he could hardly walk. He no longer escorted me to the exit of Sandpiper Convalescent Center, to kiss me on the cheek and tell me goodbye. His breathing was shallow, and daily, he would aspirate his food. He insisted on eating.

“It’s the only thing I can do, and I’m going to eat – even IF it kills me.” He said. And. That is what happened on Tuesday, July 6, 1999. As he was struggling to eat his dinner, he choked. Coughing profusely, he aspirated his food and was gone.

Bring him back? No. I could not allow that. I knew I would miss him. I knew I would feel like an orphan. I had lost a man who adored me from my childhood through my adult years. I saw the gleam in his eyes when he mentioned me. Funny. I just remembered that. My childhood was so painful; I locked all of those emotions away. Now, at times, some of them come rushing back – dancing into my brain, and I remember how much my father, Walter W. Perkins loved me.

It has been 20 years now. Still, I ache for my father. I hurt to hear his voice. I hunger to sing harmony with him, and I crave to hug him – just one more time.

People told me the grief would ease, but it hasn’t. Although I want to open some of his scrapbooks and diaries, I cannot. The pain of his loss is still much too fresh. I have learned to walk through the grief, and when I battle to get to the other side of grief, there appears to be a thick, dark cloud blocking me.

I keep telling myself One day I will open those scrapbooks and look at them, but not now. Not today. Maybe never. I miss him so much.

So, today, as I battle depression once again, I’m keeping myself busy. Earlier, I emptied the dining room hutch. Admiring the depression glass collection. Christmas china collections. Crystal and other items. Now, I must polish the furniture, clean the dishes and put them back. Or. Maybe. Not.

Not today. Today, I wish to reminisce about my father, Walter W. Perkins. I want to remember him and his identical twin brother. I never met him. He died much too young, shattering my father’s life for a bit.

Today, I pray the Perkins Twins can harmonize in Heaven. Maybe one day, when I join them, I can sing in harmony too, but for now, I must get busy with life.

After all – tomorrow is another day, and I plan to walk the pier again. Something I haven’t done in weeks. I know. I need to get back to life, and I will. Tomorrow!

I must continue fighting this depression – before it gets the best of me. I must take one step tomorrow morning. Then, I’ll take another step and rush to the pier — just to feel the sea breeze kissing my face. Yes, to feel the humidity of the late summer kissing my face and body with glitter. After all – ladies, especially Steel Magnolias do not perspire. We GLITTER! Tomorrow will be a new day. I must approach tomorrow with my sassy, feisty attitude, and my wiggling swag as I dance around the pier while collecting my Glitter. Yes. Tomorrow!

How about you readers? What will you do – Tomorrow?

 

Customer Service in America…


Dearest Readers:

Yes. It’s true. I, along with many friends, complain about customer service in America. Years ago, when phoning a company to express a complaint, we were transferred to a department that was capable of taking care of our needs. Now, normally, when phoning, you get transferred to one department…then, another department…dare I say it — placed on HOLD for what appears to be eternity, and finally in defeat – we hang up.

Yes. That is my style. Today, things changed.

I’m having difficulty with my Garmin Vivofit 2. In March, the battery died, so I took it to Batteries Plus to get another battery. When I originally replaced the battery, about a year ago, I purchased the lifetime battery, so this year, my battery was free. My Vivofit 2 was working fine afterwards. About three weeks ago, things changed.

In case you didn’t know, I purchased a Garmin Vivofit 2 after my Fitbit Alta band broke, and the Fitbit Alta wasn’t working properly. Defeated, I removed the Fitbit, deciding to toss anything made by Fitbit into the trash. Instead, I placed my Fitbit One and Fitbit Alta in a drawer. I purchased a Vivofit 2 on Amazon.com after losing confidence in Fitbit products.

On one occasion, a friend shared her experience with customer service from Fitbit — praising them, so, I decided maybe I should try. Fitbit wrist bands never hold up, so I phoned – sharing my diplomatic manner with them. Meanwhile, I wore the Garmin Vivofit 2.

While speaking with the customer service rep, she wanted me to take a picture of the wrist band and the Fitbit. I responded I threw the tacky wrist band in the trash! She placed me on Hold!

Finally, she returned, telling me she spoke with a supervisor. “Normally, we require proof that the wrist band was defective, but this time, we will send you another wrist band and we’ll replace your Alta.”

Proof of a defective wrist band? In all honesty, those wrist bands are not exactly a quality product!

So now, I wear two trackers. They make interesting conversation!

Today, I decided to contact Garmin. For about three weeks, I’ve had difficulty reading the screen of the Vivofit 2. I see a garbled number on screen, and when I go to sync it, I cannot tell if it is on the sync screen. Yesterday, I managed to move over 17,000 steps; however, with the Garmin Vivofit 2, I couldn’t comprehend IF it synced until I checked the website on my computer.

So, here I go, making a phone call while sipping my morning cup of Joe. The customer service rep pulled up my history, and moments later, he said he will send me a new device. No fee. He simply wants me to be happy with Garmin products! He mentioned I would be getting a confirmation email soon. Think I’ll check email in a few minutes, just to see.

How’s that for customer service? I was totally prepared to get the runaround. Yes. Diplomacy and kindness works!

Wouldn’t it be wonderful IF all companies trained their customer service reps in such an amazing way! I wasn’t required to “take a picture” so they could tell it was defective!

I didn’t need to get angry. I confess. I’ve worked in customer service for many years, and I’ve been rewarded with Excellent Customer Service Awards, on many occasions, I know what customer service SHOULD be in America, and beyond!

Eureka! I checked email a moment ago. The confirmation email stating I will get a replacement is in my inbox folder!

Today, I can truly say, there is nothing like customer service in America. At least…for today – Tuesday, July 23, 2019!

May you have a great day, and if you must deal with customer service, I do hope you will be treated with kindness, respect and great customer service. Thank you, Garmin!

Happy Independence Day!


Dearest Readers:

This will be a short post. Since it is July the Fourth in the USA, I wanted to wish all Americans a Happy Fourth of July, Independence Day, 2019.

Please celebrate our freedom in America and give thanks to our soldiers who are still fighting for freedom in harm’s way.

Please, if you love fireworks and are planning to shoot them into the skies today and tonight, Please consider the animals who will hear them. The Veterans with PTSD who will almost jump out of their skin when they hear them. If you plan to have a celebration with fireworks, go to a safe area to do this, not the neighbors lawns, or near animals.

I plan to keep my pups inside tonight since some of the residents in our neighborhood love to stand in the middle of the road and ignite fireworks — in my yard. Along my windows. No consideration for my husband who has PTSD. Last year, the children igniting fireworks thought it was funny to aim them near my windows. I went outside, asking them most diplomatically if they could ignite them somewhere else, and I asked Where are your parents? You’re supposed to have adult supervision.

They laughed. I considered calling the police, but I imagine they were busy since so many people consume way too many ‘adult beverages’ and drive and text while driving.

If only our neighborhood and community made the fireworks illegal here. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Finished with my complaint. Now I wish everyone Happy Independence Day. Please stay safe. If you drink, please do not drive.

Happy Fourth of July.

Fitbit Charge 2 — SUCKS!


Dearest Readers:

Today is a day for me to vent. Why? Simple – I’m aggravated with my Fitbit Charge 2 activity tracker. Earlier, I walked on the pier from 9:20 am until 10:54 am. While walking, I occasionally sit down to rest since I do have Asthma. At times, my breathing gets a bit shallow, so I rest and check my activity points. At first, it noted 4284 steps. Then, it drops to under 2000 steps, with zero activity minutes???

After walking another lap on the pier, I check the infamous Fitbit Charge 2 again. Today, it was doing the same as yesterday. Dropping activity steps and activity minutes.

After completing three laps, a bit winded and much too hot, I chose to head towards the car. Glittery pieces of glitter (since some women do not sweat, we secrete glitter) were falling from my forehead, my hair was a bit ‘glittery’ too and I was just a bit tired. Sliding into the car, I checked Fitbit to see what it was calculating this time. 6487 steps. Arriving home, I checked it again. Approximately 3480 steps???

How can that be? I had the same issue with the Charge 2 yesterday. I reset the Fitbit. I fussed. Maybe I said one or two not so nice words, and then I phoned Fitbit. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Just don’t lose your cool. Be nice! After all, you have glitter on your arms and you need to relax.

I spoke with a nice customer service rep. She attempted to walk me through the process. Following her instructions, my Fitbit had the upper hand, losing more steps.

Why is it my Garmin says I have over 8400 steps and my Fitbit says 3480?

She didn’t know. This Fitbit is possessed. I’m sick of Fitbit. I hate Fitbit, and I’m not one who hates, normally!

She placed me on hold for a moment. Returning to speak with me, she mentioned I will be getting a new Fitbit Charge 2.

I just checked my Fitbit, now it reads 3372 steps? When did America start reducing numbers to be the greatest??? At golf, but not in life!

Until I receive the new Fitbit Charge 2 I think I’ll stick with my Garmin. At least it calculates steps correctly!

Moral of this story — please do your shopping and research to see which activity tracker will work for you. I’m beginning to think my Fitbit is a possessed antique. I’ve only had it maybe a year or two? I’ve forgotten when I bought it! Yes, it is true, technology changes daily. Heck. Maybe now it changes hourly and cannot calculate your activity points correctly.

Now, I must get to work. I’ve got more writing (and primping) to do!

Have a ‘glittery’ day!

Happy Father’s Day, 2019


Dearest Readers:

Today, Sunday, June 16, 2019, is Father’s Day. I will celebrate this glorious day with my husband, while spoiling him just a bit more.

Unfortunately, I lost my father, Walter W. Perkins, on Tuesday, July 6, 1999. Father’s Day hasn’t been the same without him.

Today is a day to show your love, appreciation and gratefulness for your father. Now that I am an orphan, I feel my father’s loss immensely. How I remember the day he left me.

Working a bit late on that date, I drove to the nursing home to check on him and visit with him a bit. He was battling esophageal cancer at that time. Terminally ill. It was just a matter of time before he would leave us. Daily, I visited, unless I was ill.

Walking into the nursing home, I noticed a nurse pushing an oxygen tank. Much to my surprise, she and I placed our hands on my father’s door at the same time. I screamed. I knew. This is it. My father is dying.

At 5:45pm, I heard nurses working on him. One came out, asking me to give permission to resuscitate him. “No.” I said, tears rushing down my face. “He’s a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate.)

After that night, I failed to sleep. The remainder of that week is a blob to me. I remember planning his funeral. I vaguely remember seeing family members.

Now, almost 20 years later, I still ache to be with him, speak with him, sing with him, and enjoy our time together.

For all of you who are blessed to still have your father in your life, please do not take him for granted. Do not assume he will always be with you. There will come a day when he will leave you never to return. You will be devastated. Life is too short, so please be kind to him and appreciate all that he is and will be in your life.

If he shares stories of his childhood and early adulthood, please write these stories down. How I wish I had. I told myself I could remember those times and I could jot them down at a later time.

Poof! Those stories are gone. I cannot sit down with him now.

How I miss Father’s Day with my dad. Please take the time TODAY, to share your love. Thank him for being in your life, and make time to jot down the stories he’s shared so you will remember them.

Happy Father’s Day, Walter W. Perkins, in Heaven. I shall love you, always! May everyone who is a father enjoy this precious Father’s Day, 2019.

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