On December 13th, my Aunt Brenda and I journeyed to Maryville to pick up the little Nativity figurine. And a slice of cookie cake, turns out. You saw the blog. We were sitting at Chili’s when, for whatever reason, my Dad crossed my mind. I wonder about him every few years or so. I haven’t seen him since I was 18. It’s crossed my mind a hundred times if he even remembers I exist, and said so to Aunt Bren.

“Oh, I’m sure he does! He loved you so good. I can still see him holding your little hand as you went across the yard.”

This gave me pause. Dad always was good about taking me to feed the cows, taking me fishing, taking me to White Star. I remember him allowing me to ride in the back of his red S-10 pickup, and later attempting to teach me how to drive a 5 speed in his brand spanking new Shelby Mustang in the desolate Kmart parking lot. He had much better luck with the fishing lessons. He took me to Dollywood regularly on our scheduled Sunday visits, and lots of times to McDonalds. I remember he had a goofy laugh, an easy sense of humor, and skinny legs. I have inherited his mischievous blue eyes, snorting laugh, and curly brown hair. Unfortunately, I did not get his skinny legs.

So I dwelt on this a bit in the coming days. I googled him and found him. He was still living in Knoxville, but had evidently done a little traveling, taking him to New Jersey and Alex City in Alabama. I found that a bit ironic, as that Aunt Bren had also lived there. But I looked at the map of his current residence, street view, and possible listed relatives. I was among them. Amazing what you can find on Google. For FREE. I also found his phone numbers. I didn’t go so far as to enter them into my phone, but I knew where I could find them again.

On December 29th, I went to see my favorite hairdresser and she gently suggested I might think about contacting him. Just to let him know I was okay. I wasn’t mad, I wasn’t crazy, I had turned out okay. Better than okay. It didn’t sound like a bad idea. Dad was alright. Not the best husband, but a decent Dad. You can be a good Dad but a shitty husband. You can’t be a shitty Dad and a good husband. It doesn’t work that way. I still hadn’t landed on anything, but I told my girls about it. They were supportive of whatever decision I made, or didn’t choose to make, as they always are. Because they’re my girls.

So tonight, I’m sitting here next door at Dale and Bren’s, and I’m catching them up. I was saying how wild it was you can get all this accurate information off Google. I opened up my browser to show them. And I’m greeted with a page full of obituaries.

As the Southern expression goes, I didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.

In case you’re wondering, I did neither.

He died on January 2nd, five days after my last Google search.

So. Here I sit, trying to digest this. Should I have gotten my ducks in a row and went down there at Christmas? I don’t think so. Was God trying to protect me from something? I noticed that his mother was not listed in the obituary, either deceased or alive. More on her another day. He was evidently not married, and had fathered no additional children. But who knows, as I wasn’t listed either. I do not wish to seek any monetary assistance, and I don’t think he had much, anyway, judging from his residence. (It’s not disgusting or anything, just small.) It’s just bizarre. Imagine. All the funerals I’ve attended in my life, and I missed this one.

I know I’m generally close mouthed when it comes to my father, but it’s because there’s very little to tell. But I will say it feels like a punch in the gut to learn he’s dead.

And this is how things go in my life. I know I’ve called or texted some of you just as something traumatic has happened and you’ve remarked about my timing. I’m not looking for condolences, or sympathy. It’s just weird.

To be continued.