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Pick up the pieces anyway. Even if they don’t all fit the way they where, they’ll fit. They’ll create something that wasn’t before. They’ll create something beautiful. Something new. Something better.

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Pedestals and Potholes.

Just remember, the higher you put yourself up on that pedestal, the farther you will fall. Everyone sins, and everyone sins differently. Right is right and wrong is wrong. I hope that if I ever find myself in the spotlight for something I wouldn’t be proud of, people give me just a sliver of respect. When you live in a small town like ours, family, friends, and children see the things we share and hear the things we say. Everyone has a closet and some have more skeletons than others, but they still have a way of coming out. Be kind and courteous because we’ve all done things we wouldn’t want others sharing about us. I say “we all” because I include myself in that statement. You don’t have to agree or support the things others have done, but degrading and laughing while their down makes you no better. Families and children will suffer. Just think about it. Or are you a rare breed of perfect?

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If I could dance with my father again.

Throughout life you will find that as people come and go, some never really leave. I was thirteen years old when he passed away. He was and is still the greatest man I ever knew. My popa. In my mind he was the most honest, loving, and caring person to ever walk the earth. He was my knight in shining armor, my Prince charming, he was my hero. Actually, he still is my hero. He served for his country would have proudly done it again. He spent his days hunting and fishing before diabetes ultimately took his site. We spent our afternoons building things in the shed and making messes for my Nanny to clean up. He may have been set in his ways but I can’t recall a time he ever told me no.

To know him was to love him. He was the first man in my life, and set the bar pretty high for what a man should be. I know most kids enjoy spending time with their grandparents, but he was far more than just a “popa” to me. There was an unspoken bond between the two us. I remember asking one time “how could ever get married?!?!? There will be no dad to give me away!” He gave me this silly face and said “well, I wasn’t going to let just anybody take you off! Figure I’ll meet him first and I might let him have you.” I knew from that moment on, he would fulfill any “daddy duty” we encountered.

Sadly, he never made it to wedding day. To honor him, his photo was with us at the arch my husband and I exchanged our vows under. My actual father and I dedicated the “father-daughter” dance at my wedding to him. It was an extremely emotional moment for everyone, but I know that for every second that passed, he was with me. I was able to dance with home again (so to speak). That was the song played. Today he is weighing heavily on my mind and I hope that everyday since he has passed he’s been proud of who I am and who I am becoming.

 

To my popa, my hero, this one’s for you.