RIP Kim Alyce Boulanger-White

Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend, Wife and Mother.

Kim Alyce Boulanger-White

July 12,1959-August 24,2009

Holy Crap. I am so devastated deep in my soul. Deep places in my very solar plexes in spots where I didn’t know I could hurt. I think I know, actually am more acutely aware of what it feels like to have your heart being ripped from your chest. An ache I have never felt. Like part of me is being shredded apart.

My oldest sister (and Mom figure) died on August 24th. Yes. If you are keeping up with these things 2 major relatives in 5 weeks. I am still so deeply mourning my Father. I miss him so much. Sitting here typing about him makes me tear up. I have realized something. My children have maybe seen me cry 2-4 times in their whole lives. I’m not a crier…. I wasn’t until now. My tears are always sitting on the rim of my eyes. I cry for no real reason. I think of something I want to tell my Dad and each time the memories flood right in. Like every time I have to relive the fact that he isn't in my house, on my land and I can't crawl up on his bed and just sit and hold his hand and talk about the stupid parts of my day. He always wanted me to tell him about the puppies and the Mom's. Tears are everywhere. I feel like since my Father and sister died I’m a walking zombie. I can’t focus, I can’t concentrate.

My sister, Kim, Kenny (the groom) and Michael my brother-in-law

Kimmie dancing with Kenny. She was so proud this day.

I’m so alone. No one left who understands what being a Boulanger is. Boulanger is not simply a name. It is a way of life. It is a doing word. Boulanger’s always show up. Boulanger’s always come together during any crisis no matter how much we might be mad at each other. For all intensive purposes “Boulanger” is a verb. I tried talking to my youngest sister, Bonne about our heritage. She was too young. Boulanger means nothing to her. I don’t think it is something you can make another person appreciate or understand. I can tell her what it means to me but she won’t feel it in her core like I do. It seems like when I try to convey to the kids about my Mom there is this mist in front of their eyes. You can read about someone but unless you hear their laugh, or hear them talk you are missing the essence of the person.

I wonder if this is how it is supposed to feel when you are really old (not young like me of course) and everyone you love dies before you?? My sister just turned 50. That is young. Really young. Her big thing was that she out lived our Mother (died at 45) and she made it to the age of 50. Her second wish was that she could dance at her son’s wedding which she did. July 25th she danced. She danced with her son and she danced with her husband.

You know, I’m having a serious crisis of faith. I wonder why God would allow this to happen.?? Then I think about people who lose their whole family in fires or car accidents and I understand that is worse for sure. My beef is the amount of family I am actually left with. Not much. There are 4 Boulanger kids left. No Mom, no dad and No big sister. The older sister I’m left with, now that Kimmie is not here, has no morals and we don’t speak. Not every family is perfect I know. I’m certainly NOT perfect but I do like to live my life as if “I’m better than that” philosophy. My brother, Tommy lives in Renton, Washington and has 3 kids and 3 grandkids. We don’t get to see each other often enough.
You know the 8 nights I spent in the hospital’s parking garage left me A LOT of time to think. No Internet and no computer left me with nothing else to do but think about stuff before my 4 Tylenol Pm’s would kick in. I’m sad. I’m sad that my Mom didn’t get to see any of my kids, I’m sad when people have a Mother and chose not to be involved with her. My sister’s passing has taught me that I always need to end every conversation with people I care about to say “I love you” before hanging up.

I was Kim’s last phone call. Happened the night before her heart attack. She phoned me at 11:40 ish. She phoned me because she was frustrated that the nurses “had not given her anything for her pain” and she was greatly distressed and in agony. My final words to her were “What room are you in? I’ll take care of it.” She then told me the nurse was there and she would call me in the morning when she woke up. I didn’t tell her I loved her, not because I didn’t. I just assumed this hospitalization would be like all the others. She goes into the hospital they pump her with antibiotics and she goes home until MRSA gets her again. I know that regrets don’t fix things. But my regret hopefully will be turned into an action. Never finish a call without saying “I love you more.”

If you know me you know I’ve been dreaming of my tattoo. The one I can’t get and stay married with.. I have decided I don’t want it to say “Love never fails” because it does all of the time. Instead… I want my tattoo to say simply “I remember.”

Kimmie with her best friends, Ziggy and Harley

Rest in Peace Kimmie. I remember...

Now you know why I've been so quiet. My sister has died.

http://obits.oregonlive.com/obituaries/oregon/obituary.aspx?n=kim-a-white&pid=132070823

Where are my angels?

Where are my angels?

I’m not asking this to be an ass or a pain or in vain? I mean it with all my heart. Don’t we all grow up thinking that we have a guardian angel hovering just above us making sure things are going the way they are supposed to? I grew up and really believed that I was going to lead a charmed life because well… I had angels. They loved me; they watched over me and protected me.
I realize now that my angels must be on an extended vacation or that I have been such a bad person they left me because NO ONE is watching over me. NO ONE. I'm all alone now. Oh, Heather, that is blasphemy right? I don’t care. I’m having a crisis of faith. My Dad died.. (Yes, we all know that. I’m not talking about that, just mentioning it has been little more than a month.) I’m asking you, where are my angels?

I have been given more that I can bare. MORE than I can bare, get it I'm Not Job from the bible. I don’t know how I can be more broken. I’m literally breaking down. It is hard to lift my eyes they are so tired let alone to walk and accept this proudly. I have spent 4 days now sleeping in my car in the hospital's parking lot. Tonight I’m “styling.” I’m staying in a van versus my little Hyundai. I'm planning on taking enough sleeping pills where I can sleep with my body in the car and my legs sticking out. Gets to a point of exhaustion where it doesn’t matter. It’s all good. I Can’t leave my sister and sleep some where farther away. What if she wakes up? I want to be the second face she sees so if that means I sleep in the parking lot and wash my hair in the labor and delivery bathroom that is what I’ll do. I roll that way. All for family. The Boulanger way.

I have tried hard to be brave for my nieces and nephew. I have tried to be “stoic” and not cry. Think positively everyone. We can do this. I do however recognize this is the hospital where my most beloved sister lays. I’m an orphan and have had my oldest sister, Kim act as a “Mom” figure for me. Let me explain something I don’t really fully understand myself. When I’m scared, stressed, freaked or confused all it takes is for me to hear Kim's voice on the other phone and whatever I have been holding in comes barreling out. Just the sound of her voice on the phone saying “Heddi, what is going on?” comforts me. She is my person. The person you don't decide to be the person. They are the safe place. You hear their voice and know you can surrender all that is in your heart. She will know instinctively/intuitively that stuff is going on and always phones me when I need her the most.

She had cancer some 5 odd years ago. My Double radical mastectomy sister, Kim. She has been so sick since then. Not from a reoccurrence of cancer but infections followed by infections. She complains incessantly about how she hates taking the chemo pills everyday because they make her feel like she has the flu but she has dutifully taken them so she could stay cancer free. Infection free… not so much. We just had a surprise 50th birthday in July for her. Oh man, she had so many fans there at her party. She got more loot than a 50 year old woman should get. LoL. My sister is the corner stone of our whole family. She keeps things rolling along.

What do you do when the cornerstone of your house collapses? You crumble to your knees? You fall down and don’t get up? Why can’t I be that selfish? Let go and leave it to others? Why do I have to always be the grown up? I want to cry and stomp my feet and scream and never stop… WHY>????

She switched chemo pills recently and started feeling better. What did she do when she was finally feeling better? She came down and spent a week with me. She chose to come down and be with me the minute she felt better. I am so blessed to have her in my life. She is my sister, my mother and my friend. She always allies with me, always has my back and is a believer in our most sacred Boulanger heritage. We are a dying breed and we love to talk about what being a Boulanger means to us.

She is the person who holds me together when my husband can’t. When it takes a woman’s hand, someone to kick my butt when I need it. (She would never say “butt” out loud. She is prim and proper and Yes, I’m sure we are the same blood line.) She is everything a girl could aspire to be. She loves her family fiercely. As lady like as she is, she would claw out your eyeballs if you came for one of the family. She is protective. She is the mother looking after her cubs. She is emotional, cries easily and loves everyone. She is my role model; she puts the best foot forward. People either love her or hate her but she is real. If everyone loves you I don't think you are making a difference. You aren't living.

Why all this Kimmie talk? These thoughts should have been expressed here so much earlier. She is “My person.” If you don’t know what I mean I don’t care. My person. She is my person. She is also right now lying in a hospital bed and I believe brain dead. I’ve been sleeping in my car for the past 4 days in the hospital parking lot. No, not looking for sympathy really, just can’t bear to leave the lot. I’m thinking she will wake up right when I leave. I can’t have that. My person needs to see me. I need to see her. I sit in the waiting room day after day waiting for my allotted 15 minute turn at seeing her. It is so discouraging. I started out with such faith that God knew how much I could handle, he knew I just lost my Dad and am walking such a thin line mentally. He and his angels have given up on me. They don’t care about me because I’m at the end of my rope. My sister comes to Kaiser for an infection is up and talking and they find her a half hour later neither breathing or heart beating. We don’t know how long it was between the half hour of being scene last and being found in that state. We have been told that it only took one turn at the paddles and she came back. (They explained this was the good part… Only having to use the paddles once.) Oh, how hopeful. We are Boulanger’s and we beat the odds. We always do. Don’t we?

God he knows. He knows how much I love her. He knows how much we all still need her. He knows how much I’m alone when she dies and yet she hangs on a ventilator and feeding tubes and I can’t stand not to hope. No one will say out loud what we are all thinking. That she is no longer living in the body being held together by a feeding tube and a ventilator. It is too scary a thought. She has three kids and a husband that need her. NEED HER.

Instead we talk quietly around it, afraid if we verbalize what everyone is thinking we might jinx the miracle. The miracle her husband and we so desperately need. But, I don’t believe in miracles. Suppose it has been a long time coming. Who can say they have seen a real miracle? I mean a real miracle? Not even so sure about what I believe about prayer right now. I have lost so much. I suppose it is really conceited for me to wonder what I have done/haven’t done that has made the ones I love around me die. Would God really kill my sister and cause her family to suffer to teach me a lesson? Would he take a mother to teach a sister a lesson? I don’t think that is true yet I can’t shake the feeling I’m supposed to be learning something. I’m desperate for any clue as to why. WHY? Does anyone have an answer? I’ll grasp straws. I’ll roll the dice. At this point I’d just about do anything to make tomorrow not happen. I don’t want to go to the “family meeting.” I want to scream so loud. I want to run away. Today I actually contemplated starting a scene so I could drive away and not look back. I can’t do that because we Boulanger’s, we stick together. Since we are almost instinct, we best keep to our kind. I don’t need any more prayers. God is not listening. He…

Opposums, blah, blah, Deer ticks and my Dad.

Well I’m doing better considering what I have been through. I can’t stop thinking about my Dad. A trip to Costco and walking past the mixed nuts he loved makes me weepy. Then the pork tamales he loved them too. I have been getting a lot of advice lately. Some asked for and some unsolicited. All of it the same, “It will get better.” I know that to be true but it doesn’t exactly help when I’m knee deep in self pity. Poor Heather, she is an orphan, blah blah blah. I don’t care if you understand it, it is how I feel. I’m struggling. Having to drive up to Portland to see Kim's doctor to have her look at Kim's new lumps has put another fear in me. She has been so sick since her bout with breast cancer. I'm freaked I'm going to lose her too. I have done enough crying this year. It is August no more grief for this year. I have already had 2 people die in my house. Not sure but thinking that is sufficient. If the lumps she found have not shrunk by Tuesday they are going to do surgery and remove the lymph nodes and then biopsy them. I'm a Boulanger and that means we always think the worst.

Tonight Colton’s dog Wynne was scratching under the kitchen sink.

<--- Colton and scary Opossum #1

I went out there to investigate and we had opossums crawling into the area around the sink thinking how nice and toasty it was. Wynne started barking, they started hissing like crazy, I nearly peed my pants and then all the dogs started barking. It’s like duh. I’m right here dogs, I see those scary little Satan eyes staring up at me. Barking makes them scared, they hiss louder and then I holler for Colton. We started out with one, than two now we have located 4 so far.

We are relocating them out in the woods. I worry if left by the house they could bite one of my dogs or a dog could eat one and leave it’s stinky carcass some where on the lawn. I mow the lawn, and dead decaying opossum guts fly up at me. Not so much. Relocation is the only answer.

I’m not complaining about living out in the country. On the contrary, I love it. I love the deers, the wild turkeys, I feed all the birds, and the occasional fox. I haven’t seen any bears in a long time. I think that having my dogs all over the property makes them follow our creek to the river instead of going across the grassy knoll. I don’t complain about how I can’t plant much because the deers think of my yard as “the garden of eaten.” I in fact had bought a deer lick. David explained there is a reason that the worst ticks are called “deer ticks” I don’t purposely feed them I don’t want a tick to get on my dog and I’m afraid of Lyme’s disease.

I’m going to try to do one thing a day out of my comfort zone. Today I went to Costco and for the first time I left the house in years I didn’t keep calling the kids to check on Grandpa. I think I should be glad he is in a “better place”. I’m not feeling it yet. Hey, I found the coolest thing to do with Snapfish.com. I uploaded all the pictures I wanted of my Dad and the kids etc and have ordered a real book. It is like a yearbook with those kind of pages. Way cool. I’m also going to start scrap booking with Serina, Brittany, Joy and Mandy once a month. This way I can be with them, they can all meet and we can share the pictures with one another. We can share idea’s and I have WAY too much stuff for one person to use. Like everything else if I do it I always “Go Big”. Go big or go home.

Boulanger language, Canada, crazy accents and the process of grieving.

(Written 4 days ago.)
So I’m on the ferry heading back to Port Angeles. (Three hours early.) Only supposed to be 2 hours early just like at the airport, but David is anal. It is over 99 degrees and way too hot to be in the car. We found a nice little shady area and ate our meat, cheese and crackers. Quite romantic actually. Some fools stayed in their cars. One person was in a wheelchair and she couldn’t get out. I wonder how many cases of heat stroke they face each day? Everyone up here is saying it is “unseasonally” warm up here. I’m like WTH? I was looking forward to to the cool air. Actually I’m smiling as I type this because I actually spent most of my time up here in the excellent room or in the AC car. The rooms are so nice and cool. They do not AC the hallways to the rooms. So it is like going from hell to heaven when you open your room door. I love Canada. I wish we could move here and have a fresh start somewhere. No one holding us back. I love Oregon so much tho. Canada is a lot like Oregon, so I could adjust. I love their coinage too.

I’m afraid to go home. When I’m here it is like “that life” doesn’t exist. Like I’m not the disconsolate orphan that I am. I know I’m a big girl and need to put my “big girl panties” on but I don’t want to. The ferry is moving now and I’m hot as hell. I don’t sweat well. I paid enough that they should have a personal fan for me. Don’t they know I’m a world renowned breeder from the states? I don’t think that they care. I’m sure there are some Doctors on here and I don’t see their personal fans. Luckily for me the ferry is turning around and I’m in the shade. Not much consolation considering I think it is still 90 in the shade. I miss my kids. I miss my chair. I miss the deer, bet no one has fed my wild birds. The deer are mad there has been no extra seed left out for them.

Cody and Erica have been staying at the house since my Dad died. It is nice to have them there as a back up because Colton is in love. I mean in love with a girl who hates his sister and me. Nice huh? We will win her over to our side. We are all that and she will come to know that. I hope she will go to Jennifer’s wedding in Caiti’s place. It would be nice to have a real bit of time with her and let her get to know us how we really are. She was very hurtful to Caiti a few years ago. I said something, Caiti shouldn’t have repeated it. Blah, blah. Let’s forget the fact that I shouldn’t have put my nose where it didn’t belong. She hurt Caiti and as a Mom that hurts me. Everyone grows and changes and she deserves the benefit of the doubt. Colton thinks the sun rises and sets on her so we will see.

I keep thinking I should be thankful for what I do have in my life and quit dwelling on what I don’t have but I’m not there yet. I have such a hole. If I allow myself to think about it for a minute I bawl my eyes out. I find myself saying it a lot too. “My dad died.” Like some how it will sink in better?!! I’m not sure actually. A bead of sweat is actually rolling down my back between my shoulder blades. UGH. I feel grouchy now. Lots of foreigners on this ferry. Speaking all of their different languages.

I may start a language of my own. I have used an Australian/british accent here. It drives David crazy, but I’m having some fun. Crazy is where I come from. My Dad and I had our own fake languages. One of them was the number language. We would go out to restaurants and say random numbers and converse through the whole meal with our fake talk. People would look so strangely at us. Ha. Then we had a fake language we would speak that was gibberish. Sounded like Arabic/Chinese/Spanish/whatever. It was so fun. My kids would never play either of those games with me. My Dad and I did fool them sometimes before they got old enough to understand and wouldn’t play. I still have grandkids planned for in the future. Perhaps they will play the gibberish language with me. I’ll be old then, it will be more acceptable I imagine. The kids can play it off as “crazy old Mom.”

What being a Boulanger means to me.

LOVE NEVER DIES... BOULANGER

I have tried my best to explain what being a Boulanger has meant to me and David just doesn’t understand. He can’t figure out why I can’t/don’t embrace the Christian name like I do the Boulanger name. Boulanger is where I come from. Christian is who I am now. I want so badly to get a tattoo on my foot that says “Love never dies” Then underneath it the name Boulanger. My way of reminding myself of how important it has and is in my life. Getting a tattoo is where my husband apparently “draws the line in the sand”. So, all the crazy stuff I have done doesn’t warrant a threat but marking my OWN body is where I get a divorce?? I wonder to If my desire to get a tattoo is to distract me. I don’t know anything really right now. I know I’m mad at God . Why did I have to be one of the people who doesn’t get to grow old with their parents? My kids know their grandpa and I’m so blessed for that.

When I try to talk with my kids about my Mom and how dynamic she was and that I’m a lot like her they act like I’m trying to teach them about history and some person who didn’t exist. How can I tell your kids about a woman who made me into the Mom I am now? She was the best Mom ever.

I'm going to work in my yard.

Have you ever felt like hiding or running away?? I have hid from my whole family and crawled into the nursery and hid with a blanket when I have been overwhelmed. I have dreamt secretly about driving away. You know how sometimes you read about people who just drive away and don’t look back? I have thought about it myself. I could never bring myself to do it but I have sure thought about it plenty. Raising 4 kids is hard work. Home schooling even harder. Making sure the kids had what they needed education wise was an arduous task but well worth it. My husband going back to school and being stressed out has made me ponder divorce a lot. I have actually told him that it is “Good that we are poor otherwise we would be divorced.” He doesn’t believe in divorce unless of course I get a tattoo. Stupid. But who is the stupid one? You ever dream of running away or is it just me?

Right now I’m sitting in a ferry. I’m headed somewhere in Canada with David. We have already been on a ferry today and it was okay. Then we got to the next ferry and have had to sit around in the car and walk around Port Angeles all day. I’m becoming irritated by all the chatter.

<---The Ferry people

There were people who got out of their cars in the staging area and began chatting each other up. It annoyed me. I mean really annoyed me. They are never going to see each other again and they are practically pulling out their hibachi’s and cooking hot dogs together. I sat in the car playing solitaire on my phone. I thought to myself I could make friends like that too. What is the use tho? One of the strangers ended up trying to sell the other one something. Like a true car salesman. I laughed when I heard the word “sell.” David spent his seven hours having dinner with me, walking around this town and then cleaning out the car. Gotta keep things tidy.

<--BUTCHART GARDENS

I am looking forward to being alone tomorrow when he goes golfing. I will have 5-6 hours alone time. I have not been alone (cept for toilet) since my Dad died. Like I’m being monitored almost. Crazy thing. Sunday was Erica Barcus’ birthday. She turned 20. Her Mom texted her. Her dad called and told her he was sorry but had been too busy to send a card. Not so nice I’m afraid. When did birthdays quit mattering? This poor girl has parents who aren’t parenting her. She deserves more.

I told you I was on vacation right now right? Well, when David was in the planning stages I told him to make all the plans and I would go. He planned it for “US” at a golfing resort. Did I mention I don’t golf? I watch it on TV with him but there is no allure for me. Chasing a ball …. Not so much. Soon as he takes up scrap booking, beading, cross stitching I will take my first golf lesson. I like the hobbies I do. I also like researching stuff on line about dogs. Always starts and ends with dogs for me.

Speaking of dogs my Dad’s dog, GIGI is so sad. She goes and lays under the covers in the room she shared with my Dad. It breaks my heart to see her scratching to get in there. I know she knows he is not here. She smelled him and kissed him goodbye before I let the morticians take him. It was so hard to give my Dad the last kiss I will ever give him and never be able to look into his eyes and know he knows exactly what I’m saying with just my eyes. Who does that? Me and my Dad. We shared the same history, I was “his girl” as a young girl. Went everywhere with him. Had a few bad years with him during teenage years and then nothing but sharing our coffee every morning with creamer and whipped cream?? No one likes coffee like we do. Haven’t perked a pot since he passed. Don’t want whipped cream. This part is going to seem creepy I think but I have slept in his bed for 4 nights. Once I’m in the room I don’t ever want to go out into the main house. Once I’m in the main house I don’t want to walk past his room at all. Wish I could unbuild it. I don’t exactly know what is going on but that is what is happening with me. Maybe I am insane?

I tried to be the best daughter, care giver I know how to be. I still have regrets. I wasn’t with him when he died. He died all alone. I would never want that for anyone to die alone. I sat in the room with my computer blaring music and playing on Face book until 3 AM. I was singing my heart out loud. He didn’t complain. I put the baby monitor right by my head and laid on the couch. I fell asleep and slept until 8 AM. I hadn’t slept in weeks. He had been so antsy. (A week earlier he had fallen out of the bed.) He died without me by his side. I let him down. I will never get over that. I should have been there. I should have been holding his hand, singing, praying instead of sleeping.

My Father died. I'm totally alone now.

RIP

THOMAS GEORGE BOULANGER

MARCH 18, 1937-JULY 16, 2009

OMG I have just survived the most harrowing week of my life. My Daddy died on July 16th.
We knew this time he must really be dying. For the past two years we have been on the “death” watch as each time we left the hospital I was admonished to spend time with him because he was dying after all. Well, two years later and he did it. He died on me. I did not give him my permission. I didn’t want to be an orphan. That is what I am now. I have no parents. I am parent less. No more Father’s Day!! No more laying in bed with him just holding hands and reminiscing. Never again. That is so permanent.

I have no one left in this whole world who loves me unconditionally and that cuts me to the quick. Oh, those around me would say that they love me “unconditionally” but that is a lie. They might mean it, but I know that it isn’t true. I’m 45 I know the harsh realities. My family has all been keeping me busy reorganizing and cleaning and etc. I have cried a lot. But those tears are the ones that are “acceptable” tears. I haven’t had the good cry yet. The soul crying I know it is here it is always brimming up to the surface, bubbling and yet not allowed to be heard or seen. I need to do this in private.

David planned a vacation (during the time my Dad was put on hospice) for this week. He wanted to go to Canada. I didn’t plan to go. I went and did the passport photo’s and never really intending to go. If my Dad was alive I would stay home. He was going to be alive so all the cooperating with my husband was just my ruse. I was pretending to want to go.

My Dad died and now I’m on vacation. Does that make sense to you? My heart is broken and yet I trudge through all the tourist spots in Canada. I cry special tears because my Dad always wanted to come here. We talked about it a lot when I was a kid. He wanted to live here. It is gorgeous here. I feel a bit renewed. I feel sad too because I don't get to go home and tell him all about it. It crushed me one morning when I woke up and my first thought was "I can't wait to tell Dad."

I have been doing A LOT of soul searching this week. I go from guilt to sorrow to anger at my sisters and then back to the deep unending loneliness. I feel as if I have been set a drift. I have taken care of my Dad for over 7 years and just the past 2 years has he been really bed ridden. I could always use my Dad as an excuse for the in-law functions. If I didn’t want to do/be somewhere “MY DAD” worked. I am a hermit at heart. I love being home. I love it more than anything. I wish I never had to leave my home in reality. It might be a sickness but who knows. The only thing that would make me happier being home is if it took visitors to hop into a tractor to reach my home. No cars could go over the terrain. Alas, no tractors are needed.
I can’t remember if I blogged about my Dad’s premonition or not. I find myself thinking about my “home invader” and how I can best protect my family. Was it just my Father’s crazy talk, lack of oxygen or was it a real premonition and why would God warn me through him? Is something worse going to happen?

I can’t do worse. I can barely function in my daily activities. If it weren’t for my dogs I would lie in bed and not get up. My dogs still need to go out, they still need to be let in. I need to watch the Mommy’s and love on their babies. I’m an orphan dontcha know. I’m 45 and an orphan. I could feel sorry for myself if I allow it. Some people suck hard and they are still alive. My Dad was everything rolled into one person. My past. My history. Where I come from.

When my Mom died 22 years ago I was only 21 and didn’t even have any children of my own yet. I knew what her being dead meant. Nothing was to prepare me for my Father’s death. It is different this time. I know how permanent it is now.

My Father lived with me in my house with my family. Everywhere I went he went. My Father was my mentor, my guide, my companion and the best friend I will ever have in my life and now I have lost that. I’m not anchored. I feel like I’m floating. I wonder if this lack of connection is what a midlife crisis feels like. Haven’t had one. Never intended to anyway. I don’t want to seem like I’m not thankful for my kids and my hubby. I love them but now I’m rootless. I have no one backing me up from my past. My heritage, my people. My kids don’t appreciate what it means to be a Boulanger. They don’t appreciate it and aren’t willing to fight for what it stands for. Being a Boulanger means everything to me. I MEAN EVERYTHING. We are a dying breed, the heritage, pride and sense of loyalty is waning. I want it to mean something to my children. My sisters and I know that being a Boulanger means we can get mad at one another, swear them off until they call.

It is displaced loyalty where you know that NO matter what we have each others back. No matter what.

I don’t think I instilled that in my children. It is a feeling in your soul. Rest in Peace Dad. I will never forget you... I promise.