Kelly and Ozzy

In general, I'm not a fan of reality TV, but I do like "Dancing with the Stars". Last night, Kelly Osbourne danced beautifully--surprising both herself and her parents. There was a moment after she finished her waltz when she ran to her parents and hugged her father. After their embrace, he so sweetly cupped her face, kissed her and told her how proud he was of her. It was such a lovely moment. I was so jealous.

The green-eyed monster's appearance had nothing to do with my secret wish that I could dance (and dress in beautiful gowns), but that Kelly Osbourne is so lucky to have her dad to hold her and tell her how proud of her he was. Jealousy was quickly followed by sadness and a bitterness that my Dad isn't here to tell me how much he loves me and how proud his is of me.

Sometimes I'm consumed with this combination of sadness and bitterness. I felt this way on my wedding day and on the day Corey was born. I so wanted him to be with me--even though I had so many people who love me near on those days, it wasn't enough. Most days I figure that Daddy is in heaven watching over me and so proud of me.

But then there are those days during which this imagining doesn't matter. I miss him with a sharp rawness that takes my breath away. I'm not sure if other people feel this way about their lost loved ones, although I bet they do, but I'm always amazed at this reaction. I figure that I should be over his death by now, and am startled to realize that I'm not.

Slowly, much too slowly it sometimes seems, I'm learning to appreciate the appearance of these feelings. In some way, having these feelings validates the pain I felt as a child so many years ago. Feelings that were too big for me to feel safe with are slowly coming to the surface. Decades of avoiding how I felt, while a good coping mechanism at the time, now feels like I cheated Daddy of my feelings of grief and despair that he was dead.

I'm still not sure that I will survive these overwhelming emotions, but I'm beginning to believe that experiencing my feelings is a way to honor Daddy, and that he would be proud of my efforts. I'll never get the hug and caress that I want from my Dad the way Kelly Osbourne got hers, and that's OK. It still hurts, but I had him and his love for me for 11 years, and that has to be enough.

There is no substitute for Daddy's presence, but I'm here to remember him and to make him proud. I'll just imagine the hugs and caresses that he'd give to me if he could.

Hey! I made a scrapbook page!

This layout has been percolating in my head for a while. It uses my blog post from
December 30, 2008. I created it because I like to make pages that reflect my thoughts and feelings. Also, I found a great new website called the Good Grief Blog. It's a great blog with scrapbookers responding to their grief and pain through scrapbooking.

So, here is my layout. If you want to read the words I wrote you can go to this post.

All grown up

Using prompt #7 to write about nicknames at ReadWritePoem, here's today's entry.


"My name is Diane and I want you to call me that;
I will not respond to Dee Dee any more,"
she said on her fourteenth birthday. So eager to
grow up and and leave behind her younger days.
DeeDee, huh. That's a name for a little girl,
a girl who still believes that the bird sings only for her.


Listen closely to the song in the trees.
Hear it? Listen closely...
hear the bird calling your name--
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee.

"My name is not DeeDee; it's Diane!"

You are special, but not just to me.
Listen, do you hear the birds singing your name?
Even the birds know you are special,
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee
chicka-dee-dee-dee.

"Why don't you people understand, my name is Diane!"

chicka-dee-dee-dee

"I don't want to be called that!"

chicka-dee-dee-dee

"Alright, just don't call me that in public!"

chicka-dee-dee-dee

April 7, 2009