Set Fire to the Third Bar

"I'm miles from where you are
I lay down on the cold ground
I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms"

````````When I was a little girl my dad used to bring me home a present every night when he came home from work. I used to sit in the foyer on the steps and wait for him every evening in anticipation of him coming home. Needless to say, I was a daddy's girl. His present was usually something really small like a piece of gum, a flower, or even a bag of candy. The minute he opened the door, I used to jump into his arms from the foyer stairs and give him a big kiss on the cheek. It was the best part of my day.

The last time I saw my therapist, he told me to start grieving my father's death. No, my dad doesn't have cancer or any other scary terminal illness. He is an alcoholic who is slowly killing himself and not caring who he hurts in the process. My father lied to me today and told me he wasn't drinking. He was obviously drunk. I always know when he is drinking. He is a different person and acts different. He has had pancreatitis, which can be deadly to an alcoholic if he keeps drinking. He has tried detox, AA daily, and outpatient treatment. Nothing seems to be working, because he still continues to drink. I have almost lost hope, but there is this little piece of me that just can't seem to let go.

For the last three years that I have been going to see my therapist, he has never once been wrong. I have always listened to everything he has said. This is the one time I don't want to listen and stay in denial. However, its not in my best benefit to stay in denial. Its so hard to sit back and watch someone kill themselves. How am I going to have the strength to bury my father before I even got to know him as an adult? How am I going to bury my father before he gets to know my children, his grandchildren? I can't believe that he is choosing a bottle of alcohol over his children, grandchildren, and wife.

I wish I was a time traveler, so I could rewind time and jump into his arms from the stairs 20 years ago and tell him that this was something he was going to be facing soon. I would ask him to keep all of his presents and just give me one big present : To never pick up that first drink that could lead him down this destructive, deathly path.

Float On

"I backed my car into a cop car the other day
Well he just drove off, sometimes life's ok

And we'll all float on OK"

Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands
Good news will work its way to all them plans
We both got fired on exactly the same day
Well, we'll float on, good news is on the way."

-----Well at 26 weeks pregnant, I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes. At first, it was a big let down. My whole life I have been a sugar fanatic and sweet eater. Sometimes eating sweets for meals. Needless to say, I was devastated. I have never had a weight problem or anything because I have always had a very active lifestyle. Up until now, I have never had to diet or even tried to diet. I had bouts with an eating disorder when I was younger, but I don't even consider that dieting because that was just "not eating." I have never eaten healthy in my life. I have always eaten one good meal a day. Never three. I have been very lucky to live almost 25 years of life and not worry about diet, exercise, or weight. In fact, I have never owned a scale. Maybe my lack of diet and exercise is what led me up to this point? Who knows?

So now I am forced to eat six healthy meals a day. At first, it was like a culture shock. Eating the kind of food wasn't a big deal because I don't mind healthy food. The culture shock was going from eating one meal a day to eating six. At first my blood sugars were too low, and I had to go to the nutritionist to find out why and she said I was not eating enough. I almost fell on the floor. My first thought was I cannot stuff anymore food in this stomach. Now, I am too full to even think about sweets or a piece of cake. I do splurge and have a No Sugar Added Klondike bar every night before bed. I feel wonderful, less tired. I am actually pregnant and loosing weight. My OB says that is fine that I am loosing fat, and the baby is getting plenty of nutrients. Most importantly, because of the diet, my sugars are now under control and in the range of where they should be. This means no insulin, yet. I am so happy that I am able to control it and not have to have insulin. As long as the baby is healthy, I am happy.

I have to prick myself with a needle four times a day and test my sugars. In the morning before I eat anything and than two hours after each meal. My fingers are so sore from the poking and prodding, but the doctor says I will eventually build up scar tissue and it will not hurt anymore. I have had one time where I didn't think I could poke myself. The second day I was starting this, I was unable to get blood because I was poking in the right places. I kept having to poke myself over and over again. I finally turned to Andrew and said, "I can't do this." He grabbed the thing out of my hand and said, " You have to! You have no choice, and poked me in the right spot."

The best part about this whole thing happening: Its a blessing in disguise. I really could not go on eating the way I was. I will now be in better shape to loose all the baby weight after I deliver and be one hot mama. Sometimes things work out for the best and we "Float On with bad news that turns into good news."

Fast Car

"You see, my old man's got a problem,
Lives with the bottle, that's the way it is
He says his body's too old for workin',
I say his body's too young to look like his

You got a fast car,
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision,
Leave tonight or live an' die this way."

All I can seem to think about today is my father. My father, my hero, my advisor, the business owner, the millionaire, the most successful person I know. Everything my father has ever strived for in his life he has achieved. But, you see, my father has a problem. He, despite all of his accomplishments, is human and for the last few years has let his love for the bottle spiral completely out of control. After many bouts of confrontation, denial on his part, begging, AA meetings, relapses, and one hospital stay from alcohol induced pancreatitis, he has agreed to enter a detox center and rehab.

He has exaggerated, lied, and bluffed so many times, I don't know if he will really go or even stay. Only tomorrow and time will tell.

I have hope. I can't loose hope, he is my father. I am a piece of him.

He has to beat this disease that is plaguing him, or it is going to put him into his grave. its just so hard to sit back and watch.