On January 18, 2013, around 4 in the morning, my dad died. (I hate saying “I lost my dad.” That sounds so insincere. I didn’t misplace him, he died.) He was two months shy of his 54 birthday and I was his 27 year old daughter, spoiled and coddled and well loved by the man I called Daddy, even after it was age appropriate. It was an instant growing up moment. You see, I don’t live near the house I grew up in. My family is in Arkansas, and I have somehow found myself in Birmingham, Alabama, a five hour car ride away. I spent three months living in fear of when my phone would ring.

My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer in November 2012. Being the stubborn, gnarly man that he was, he chose not to seek treatment or hospitalization. He was not afraid of the disease, he was wary of the treatment. He had seen the men in his family face cancer, seek treatment, and lose. So against our wishes, he decided to go out on his terms.

So this isn’t a real post. Hell, I don’t really care if anyone reads this blog or not. This is a place for me to collect the stories of my daddy, my family, and my life. The stories I can’t sit down and tell others face to face because my emotions are too raw. I can’t vocalize the words and the memories. But I can put them in writing. This is my introduction to you.


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