Pain

“Pain is for the living. Only the dead don’t feel it.Pain is a part of life. Sometimes it’s a big part, and sometimes it isn’t, but either way, it’s a part of the big puzzle, the deep music, the great game. Pain does two things: It teaches you, tells you that you’re alive. Then it passes away and leaves you changed. It leaves you wiser, sometimes. Sometimes it leaves you stronger. Either way, pain leaves its mark, and everything important that will ever happen to you in life is going to involve it in one degree or another.”

—	Jim Butcher

My sister wrote this and read it at my Dad's funeral

One of the things I remember most about my dad is that he seemed to know everybody. No matter where we went, he always knew someone. There was always someone that he knew from school or church or the fire department or work or a family member that he was related to in some way that would require a flow chart to understand. On the rare occasion when he didn't know someone, he'd find a random person to strike up a conversation with and they'd be added to his circle of acquaintances. He even made friends with the wait staff at restaurants. He loved to socialize and could make small talk with just about anyone. By the time I was in high school, I always knew what to expect the first time I met one of my friends' parents: "Oh, you're Dave Blohm's daughter? I've known him for years." "Of course you have." I would say. Most of the time, not only did he know my friend's parents, but their grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, employers, you name it. As you can imagine it made getting away with anything extremely difficult.

Not that I didn't try. You see, I inherited my dad's stubbornness. When my dad wanted to do something, nobody could stop him. He knew what he wanted and he was willing to do whatever it took to get it. When he visited me in the hospital after the birth of my second child, he decided that he wanted something to eat. When my mom, who was caught up in the grandmotherly thrill of holding the new baby, didn't move quite fast enough for him, he simply threw his scooter in reverse and zoomed on down the hall. It didn't seem to matter to him that not only did he not know where the cafeteria was but that he didn't have any money on him--he just left. By the time my mom caught up to him he was halfway to the elevators. "I told you I was hungry." he shrugged. Another time we were at the zoo and he got annoyed with the crowds. Rather than complain, he powered up his scooter as fast as it could go and zipped though the throngs of people, dodging and weaving in and out of the human traffic like it was the Indy 500. When we finally caught up to him, I asked him, "Aren't you worried you are going to run into someone?" He just smiled and said, "Well maybe they'll move a little bit faster next time."

Given that both my dad and I were very strong willed people,  we butted heads a lot. He wasn't willing to back down and neither was I. While our relationship was usually positive, we had some legendary battles. No matter how heated things got, I never doubted that he loved me and that he would continue to love me no matter how angry he got at me. Although I didn't realize it at the time, these arguments gave me confidence to express myself because I knew that if I could go head to head with my Dad, I could take on anybody.

I also had the sense that my Dad respected the fact that I stood up for myself. He loved to debate and challenge people. You knew you weren't going to get away with sloppy logic or lazy thinking. He would call you out on it. He had very clear ideas about how things should be done and how a person should behave and he wasn't shy about telling you if you weren't living up to his expectations. In his world there was no such thing as "good enough". It was done right or it was done again. You did what you were supposed to do or you suffered the consequences. While this could be difficult to hear, he was often right. If you did earn his praise, you knew he wasn't saying it just to make you feel better, he really meant it. Having him tell me he was proud of me was all the more meaningful because I knew it was heartfelt.

My dad could also be very goofy. When the two of us were driving somewhere, he loved to turn up the oldies and sing along, very loudly. As a teenager, this was excruciating Some people play air guitar, but he liked to play air keyboards. He would squint his eyes, tilt his head and pound the imaginary piano keys while he hollered along to Dion or Del Shannon. My face would be red with embarrassment but I couldn't stop laughing. Once we happened to run across  the John Wayne movie The Green Berets when he was channel surfing. I wanted to watch something else, but he insisted we watch the rest of the movie. When I started to complain, he began singing the theme song to me, complete with improvised hand motions. Ever since, all he had to do was tap his chest and say "silver wings" and I would dissolve into laughter.

As I'm sure anyone will tell you my dad was extremely competitive. He loved to play games and he loved to win. One of my favorite memories of him is watching him teach my daughter Ella how to play Wii bowling. She was so excited after she got two strikes in one game that she thought she was ready to become a professional bowler. Not that he was going to let her win. Oh no. Even though she was only 5, he still played to win. No mercy. Back in March he came over to my house and played with my son Ben who is 3. When Ben beat him in an animal matching game, he insisted they play again. Later when Ben wanted to play Connect 4, I explained to my Dad that he didn't really play by the rules, he just liked to drop the checkers into the slots until they were full. When Ben proceeded to do just that, my Dad continued to play as if it were a real game. "No cheating Ben," he said "I'm trying to win here."

I am grateful to my Dad for all that he taught me and the happy memories we shared. I am proud of all the lives he touched and the impact that he had on so many people. He made me the person I am today and everything that I accomplish in my life is a reflection of him. I know that his legacy will live on in me, my brothers and all of his grandchildren.

the funeral

My Dad’s funeral was today.

I still have this numb feeling in my face. Back when I still did my self medicating and drank a lot I could always tell when the drunk was going well because I couldn’t feel my face. I felt that way today. Just numb and a little like I had taken too much cold medicine.

I haven’t really cried yet, I mean I have cried, but it was usually triggered by someone else crying or a situation. I think there will still be some tears to come from all of this. My brother lost all composure when it was time for the family to say last thoughts and the casket closed. I was surprised that he broke like that. Not that it’s bad, it’s what he needed to do and the emotion he felt. He just has never seemed that close to our father and the reaction surprised me. There may be some guilt, but I hope he can resolve that. I don’t have any regrets, I’m just sad that he is gone.

My sister read a piece she wrote and she was able to read it without breaking down, I was impressed with her strength and composure. I was not able to get my feelings wrapped up and put into words and stand to deliver them. I kind of wish I could have, but nothing came to me.

I will miss him and even thought we often disagreed, on almost everything, I know he was proud of me and what I have accomplished. He taught me to stand up for myself, what it is to be a man and the value of doing things the right way the first time…or you do them over until you do.

I’ll miss you, Pops, probably more than I realize.

my dad died

he died in his sleep sometime last night. It sounds like it was peaceful and he didn't struggle or thrash or moan or anything, he just died peacefully.

I am still processing my feelings and I don't know what else I want to write yet.

itsy bitsy spider

Zombie Gnome

This came in the Mail