Always, Your Loving Daughter

Each year, on this date, I can’t decide whether or not I should mention the anniversary of my dad’s passing on social media or my blog. Only a small handful of people who will read or see it even knew him, so I ask myself if it’s something that’s best to be kept to myself and my family.

Well, we don’t discuss it anyways. It’s deeply painful for all concerned, especially for the three of us, myself, my brother and my mom.

You’d think that after 32 years it wouldn’t make me so sad, but yet here I am, the day after my 44th birthday, feeling like I have a giant hole inside my soul.

The 18th and 19th of August will forever suck.

I am always so relieved when it’s all over with and I can finally take a deep sigh of relief.

My childhood came to an abrupt end on this date way back in 1986, after celebrating my 12th birthday. I remember that we all went to see a movie, out to eat and then to the mall. The next day, we were heading to a now closed local amusement park. The day ended in tragedy and it’s something that I’m doubtful I’ll ever fully recover from.

But perhaps, to forget about someone who meant the world to us isn’t the objective.

How wonderful is it, to be so abundantly loved, that a small group of people will still remember you over three decades later?

I love you, dad.

Always, your loving daughter,

Merry Teresa

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10 Signs You’re An Empath

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I went to a bar with my boyfriend about a week ago, just to visit with a few of his friends and to have a quick beer. A woman (a complete stranger) started telling me about her decision to move away after losing her husband suddenly a few months ago and all of her health problems.

I listened to her story patiently and then told her that I thought a new start could be just the thing that she needed.

After we left, my boyfriend told me that she rarely ever talked about her problems, let alone with someone that she’d never even met before.

I shrugged and smiled. Happens all of the time, I told him.

My 1 Step Program

Tears are made up of water, salt, antibodies and something fancy called lysozymes. There are three main kinds of tears: basal tears, reflex tears and weeping tears.

A basal tear is your bodies natural eyeball lube. (I love that word, lube.)

A reflex tear happens when you get something in your eye, during the dreaded cutting of the onion’s or when you don’t have enough basal tears handy (lube!!) to do the job.

And that takes us to the final type of tear, weeping tears. If you’ve ever stubbed your toe on an ottoman, suffered a tremendous loss or found out that you won $200 on a scratch-off ticket, you’ve experienced this multipurpose tear before. It’s primary function is to show sadness, anger, happiness (yay) and everything in between.

I could easily fill a small mason jar with all of the weeping tears that I’ve shed these last 5 months, since I found out the fucked up truth about my husband. Before that, I could go months at a time and not shed one single tear.

And I thought that I was so strong, so above it all. I was smug about it. Like, look at me, I give no fucks, I don’t have any emotions, therefore I do not cry, bitches.

I am built Ford tough, so go on and try to make me cry!

I was proud of myself.  I was always being shushed as a kid, told that crying was for the weak and that it made people so extremely uncomfortable to watch me do it.

Nobody likes a whine-ass, right?


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If only I had made sure to douche daily with Lysol, Charlie wouldn’t have cheated on me.


Quit your bitching, Lucy. Gee whiz, get over it!!

Well, I am here today to tell you guys something that might change your life.

That’s right! And, I won’t even charge you for my 1 step program, designed specifically to finally free yourself from that old-fashioned and ingrained thought process.

Here it is, are you ready? (Make sure to have your credit card on stand-by for some optional add-on shit later in this post.)

It’s okay to cry.

Yes, it really is. If I’m lying, may God send me $5,000.00 to update my condo.

Nope. Nothing.

To all of the naysayers who tell you that crying is just for sissies and wussies, I say nay.

Nay all over that bullshit.

There’s a reason why we human beings are designed with tear ducts. Without having the ability to cry, there’s no way to truly heal from a trauma, show pure joy when someone buys you something spiffy or when you reunite with a pet after a trip.

If we couldn’t cry, funerals would suffer, people would stop watching sad movies, pinky toes would bang into things more often and the sky would turn a lovely shade of burnt orange.

For the sake of humankind, we all need to learn that it is truly a brave thing to just cry it out instead of forcing oneself to stay stoic and strong.

I am strong because I cry.

(I was going to put “Let Her Cry” by Hootie and the Blowfish at the end of this post, but after listening to it, I decided that it sucked donkey balls…just as I remembered.)

You can put your credit card away, by the way. I was just messing around, I have nothing to sell you, unless you’re interested in digging around in my husbands junk being stored (possibly forever) in my garage.