Long Over Due Update.

I was going to blog about my experience with Hep C therapy.  I found it very depressing, so I didn’t want to write about it.  So I have neglected my blog.  But now I will have to change my blog name.  Therapy is over. And it was a failure.  The virus has grown resistant to the medicine.  So I am not cured, and there isn’t any other treatment. 

Now I have to wait, and see if anything new comes down the pike in the next few years.  That sucks. 

I have been living at home, with my mother and her husband.  That has been hard, too much old baggage has come back to haunt me. 

I hope to  move back to Alaska, where my sons are. But until that far away time I am going to get a job. And I am going to blog about things that really interest me.  I didn’t want to discuss politics or any of the other things that stir people up. But damn I can’t even comment on Facebook these days without causing a dust-up.  So you know I’m just going to go for it.  Who knows I might get hate mail. 

Memories of My Dad, Donald Ray Williams

After fighting cancer for two years my father passed away today.  We all knew it was coming. But I always hoped maybe somehow he would defeat it.

When I saw him the last time about a month ago, I barely recognized him.  He had always been a large man, six feet tall and walked with a John Wayne swagger.  A hard fighting, hard-drinking Irishman from Kansas City, Missouri.  He had been reduced to a small old man, who couldn’t get out of bed.  He struggled to stay awake, because he wanted to see his daughters.

I don’t have many memories of him.  My parents divorced when I was 6.  And for most my childhood from the time I was 9 until I was 20 I never saw him.  Then one day he just found us, my sister and me.  And after that we would see each other every few years. I’d call on the Father’s day and Christmas.

I may not have visited him often, I always knew he was out there. All I had to do was call him.  Drive my kids down to see him.  Now he won’t be there. I will miss his funny stories of being an other the road truck driver. He was funny, and could tell a great tale.  I remember laughing so hard, I couldn’t breath.

He is survived by my step-mom Shirley.  I admire the way she look care of him the last two years.  She’s a great lady.

On our last visit I got to tell him I loved him. He held out hands and didn’t want to let us go.  I left knowing I would never see him again. Gratified that he was comforted by his daughters coming to see him.