Not a step dad but a bonus dad
As I got older I was told that this man was coming over and visiting my mom when my father was at work. He would park his truck behind the barn hoping it was out of site for anyone to see. It was seen though. My uncle seen it and told my father right away. This day changed all of our lives forever. My dad had to leave our home and I only got to see him every couple of weeks and this other man was now in my life all the time. I didn't like it. At all. I actually hated it. It made me angry and rebellious. My attitude towards life and more importantly my mother changed drastically.
He worked with my mom. I think he was her boss. They fell in love and that love ripped my family apart. He was in the Army so he had the respect and drill Sargent attitude and living routine. He had two daughters, who I never seen much of. I later found out that he did not want my mom and his daughters around each other. Apparently they all hated each other. Not knowing then but totally understanding why. My mom was jealous of them. She made their life hell and pushed them away from their father or their father away from them, but either way their life was also affected by this new love.
He ate loud and fast. I guess this was a learned behavior from being in the Army. You had to eat fast to be sure you got to eat at all. But this was so annoying and to hear him constantly choke on his food was disgusting. But no one could change that. My mom made a few comments after we moved in with him and he started eating out in the living room, which also pissed her off. She was never happy. He came into my life on bad terms. He seen a little girl that had so many issues and was so disrespectful to not only him but also to his girlfriend. He tried so hard to teach me to be more respectful and important life lessons.
I wasn't having it.
How dare you come into my life and try to change me.
I didn't see then what I understand now.
Life with him was not always bad. He was a funny man. His laugh alone was contagious. His choice of attire was funny enough without him saying anything at all. He had these damn sandals.
Jesus shoes.
They were ugly as hell. But he loved them. He wore them all the time. Usually paired with no shirt and cut off jean shorts. He thought he was so damn sexy. Lets not forget the bald head and beard to top it all off.
Growing up I realized he was a good man with a huge heart. I don't know if he changed, if life changed us or if I just grew up and seen a side of him I refused to see when I was younger. Whatever it was, I grew to love him. I learned to respect him. Most of the changing came after I had my daughter. She freaking loved him and it melted his heart. He loved being her grandpa. It was so obvious. He was wrapped around her finger. He taught her all the things that he wanted to teach me, she was a lot more receptive to this. Being she did not have a father to look up to this was the next best thing. He sat down and did her homework with her. He taught her to drive the lawnmower. He taught me too but because I was the rebellious teenager and did not want to listen to him I ruined that privilege. I was told to keep the speed in turtle mode. I wanted to drive fast. The faster that damn machine went the faster the yard was mowed. But I was not experienced enough for the rabbit speed. I drove the mower straight into the huge brown planter in the yard. The mower ended up pretty much straight up and down. Front tires above the top of the planter.
FUUUCK!
I had to go tell him because I had no idea how to get it down off of there. He was pretty mad. But he wasn't mean to me. I just wasn't allowed to mow anymore. Which really wasn't a bad thing. I didn't want to anyways.
But my daughter was different. She listened. She loved all the lessons he taught her and I loved watching her grow more independently because of him. I started to respect him more. I started to love him.
He was not always in the best of health but he was very secretive. He didn't want many people knowing his business. Some things were hard to hide though. He had a heart attack. He almost died. But he was a stubborn old man and was not giving up that easy. He survived that and continued to be the same ole prankster man that loved to get in a good laugh.
It was my moms birthday. I bought her an ice cream cake. I wanted it to be a surprise so I, myself, put it in the freezer in the garage. I waited for the perfect moment to bring it out. My mom was on the phone and I motioned to my girlfriend to go get it out of the freezer. She came back in, a significantly long time later, empty handed with a confused look on her face.
"Where is it?" She asked quietly.
I was not as nice with my response.
"It is in the damn freezer where I put it!"
"No it's not."
My step dad walks in the house from the back door but I never put two and two together.
I decided she was freaking retarded and I would go get the damn cake myself. I went out to the garage and opened the freezer door. There it was, plain as day. The fucking cake was right there. I grabbed it and took it inside and she just looked at me like "I" was crazy. I wasn't the crazy one. I knew it was in there.
Then my step dad started laughing. His face turning red from not being able to control the laughter.
What the hell did I miss?
Then he told us.
While no one was paying attention he went out and got the cake so that when my girlfriend went out to get it it would not be there. Then when he heard her go back in the house he ran back in the garage and put the cake back in the freezer so it would be there when I went out there.
That was the kind of shit that asshole did.
Don't be offended by me calling him an asshole. He knew this was his secondary name and he accepted it. It was fine. He called himself an asshole.
This was a story we would tell for a long time and he would laugh with the same belly laugh every time we told it. He thought is was the bees knees.
One day. a long time later, I went over to visit my mom. She was sitting on the couch with all this paperwork in front of her, she was visibly upset. I sat down beside her to see what was going on.
"His kidneys are failing. He is dying and they are going to start dialysis."
She sat there crying. I started to cry with her. After a moment she told me she was trying to apply to donate a kidney to him to help him but because she was older and not in the best of health she was having a hard time. If no one he knew could donate then he would be put on a transplant list but that did not guarantee he would get one before his body gave up.
I didn't even think about it before the words came out of my mouth.
"Give me an application. I will see if I am a match."
She asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. She questioned me. I didn't even think about all the dangers and what I was putting myself into.
I didn't care. I didn't have to think about it. I loved him. My daughter loved him. He was not going out like that.
I got the application and filled it out. Within a week the facility was contacting me setting up testing and appointments to see if I was a match.
Within that week I had multiple people questioning my choice. People that loved me where scared. They were trying to talk me out of it. My step dad was almost forcing me to back out of this idea. I didn't give up. He was worth it to me. I would take my chances.
Testing seemed to all just come and go. I was a perfect match. What are the odds of that. The blood match was 99.9%. It was meant to be. It didn't take long for the surgery to be scheduled. I had to do multiple tests and a couple of counseling sessions. I refused to go to the first counseling session and I told them it was against my religion. That didn't fly with the team. I had to go anyways. My step dad thought that was pretty funny but he took me to my appointment anyways. I walked into the room and there sat an angry looking old lady. She was very serious. She asked me a lot of questions. The one that pops out the most to me was when she asked,
"Are you being bribed to do this procedure or is anyone paying you?"
I was quick to answer her. I thought I was hilarious.
"I can get paid to do this?"
She didn't laugh.
Anyways, I passed the psychological screening and I left the room.
My step dad thought my story was funny. We laughed. A lot.
Time went by fast. It seemed to fly by.
The day of the surgery came. I got into my robe. They started the IV. I had lots of supporters there with me. He said if I changed my mind that now was the time and he would not be disappointed. I questioned it in my head but I didn't let him know that. I quickly answered him, reassuring him that I was okay to continue.
I was so scared.
My mom was there, my aunt, my girlfriend at the time and his two daughters. Everyone was showing me love and support. They all told me I was a great person for doing such a selfless thing. But I didn't see that. I was just doing what any good hearted human being should do to save someone they love. It really was not a big deal to me.
The surgery was over. He felt great. I was not so great. But this was expected. He made multiple comments to me that he was feeling as good as he felt in his twenties. He was doing amazing. I was so happy.
Two years later, it was the fourth of July 2011.
Me, my girlfriend and my little girl were sitting on the couch. We swore we heard something but could not figure out what it was. I thought it was a flock of geese flying over the house. Then maybe it was coming from the TV. But then it got closer. The sound became more clear.
"Jessicaaaaaa!!!"
It was my mom, it was not a good scream.
As soon as I got to the door I heard her say my step dad was laying on the floor. I didn't hear anything else. I ran as fast as I could across the neighbors yard.
There he was laying in the kitchen. Breathing so hard. White as a ghost.
His eyes showed a lot of things but the biggest emotion was fear.
My mom came and got me before calling 911. I was so angry.
"Call the fucking ambulance!"
I got a cold rag and put it on his head. I looked him in the eyes and begged him.
"Please don't die on me right now."
He looked so sure when he answered me back...
"I am not going to die."
The squad was there and they were getting him in the truck to take him to the hospital. I ran back home. I had to get dressed. I had to get to the hospital. My daughter was so scared.
"Whats the matter mama? Whats going on?"
I reassured her everything would be okay.
I was sure of it.
He was in surgery for what seemed like forever.
The nurse came out and called for my mom, my brother and I followed her.
We were sitting in this tiny room. It did not feel good at all. My mom was crying. She looked at me and said those words.
"He is going to be okay, right? You said he was going to be okay."
The doctor entered the room.
"We did everything we could. His heart was not strong enough and gave out. We lost him. I am so sorry."
My head was spinning.
I don't even think I heard anything else. But I heard the words that would haunt me until this day.
"You said he would be okay Jessica. You said he would be okay!!"
I walked out of the room. In shock. Crying. Everyone waiting in the lobby knew at this point what was going on. There were so many tears.
We all loved him so much.
His daughters did not live close to us. They were both in different states. They knew what was going on but we had to call and tell them he didn't make it.
I had to make that first call.
It was a horrible feeling to tell a daughter, who didn't get a chance to say goodbye, that her daddy had passed away.
Then I had to tell my daughter. OMG. The feeling that was in my gut the entire ride home. When I picked her up she got in the back seat with her friend. I pretended to be on my phone talking to someone. She kept asking over and over. But I kept putting my finger up as I was "talking" on the phone. I did not want to tell her. This was the big one. This one was going to destroy her precious heart. I pulled into the local park. I put my phone down and got out of the car. I walked over to her and grabbed her hand to walk with her to the bench. I kept praying over and over in my head for God to help me find the right words to break this to her.
We sat down.
"You know how great grandpa had an aneurysm and he was in the hospital for a long time, well he was one of the lucky ones. He survived the fight. Your grandpa had one of those too but his heart was not strong enough to take the surgery that he needed to help him."
My baby broke into a million pieces. I held her so tight as she let all of her emotions out.
This was the Fourth of July we would all never forget.
His birthday was four days later. This was also the day we buried him.
We were at the grave site. The services were over. He got the 21 gun salute.
Then there was silence. Until you heard my little girls voice.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday too you..." 🎜🎜
everyone joined in.
It was heart wrenching to sing happy birthday to someone you love who is in a box being entered into a hole under the earth.
Besides my father this was by far one of the hardest losses that I had to experience.
I will always remember the lessons he tried to teach me. I will always remember the lessons he taught my little girl. The memories and laughter will live forever.
But most importantly,
He will always have a piece of me with him in Heaven.
He was more than a step dad.
He was a bonus dad.
I was lucky to have him.
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