Home again ...... at least that is what it feels like. As soon as I walk in the "door" to Mudcat, I feel like I am where I belong. I feel like I owe an update to you all, and I should explain my scarcity in these parts......

I sit here on the eve of my father's memorial service, which I will moderate, deliver the eulogy, and sing at. After an incredible fight, Da passed into the lonesome valley on April 13. I was standing at the top of the steps of the State Capitol at a giant rally in Lansing, Michigan. I was 2 minutes from starting an hour solo set for a crowd of 7,000+, when I got the word that he passed. It was a difficult set, especially when I came to MacColl's "My Old Man". I always have sung this in honor of my father. Let me tell you why.

I must have been about 14 or so. My father came home and called me over. He told me to shake his hand. "Son, an hour ago I shook hands with Jimmy Hoffa with that hand". "Great" sez I, "who's Jimmy Hoffa?" My father sat me down and told me all about the struggle for decent pension, health insurance, fair wages and working conditions. He hauled out his dues book and explained about what the dues were and what they paid for, and how that was why we could live decent. Later in that same year, on our way home from a fishing trip, my dad stopped for a beer, and I was over playing shuffleboard with my cousins. My dad was at the bar, and called me to him. He was arguing with the fella beside him. As I drew near, he grabbed me and said, "See this kid. He gets glasses when he needs them, goes to the dentist every six months, I make more money than you, have better benefits than you, got a decent pension plan, and if Jimmy Hoffa wants $2.00 more a month from me, he doesn't have to steal it, I will give it to him. Go on and play shuffleboard, Mick". And I scooted back to the game.

It has been a difficult 3 years. For six weeks I slept at the hospital when he first went in and we didn't know if he would live. When his Medicare Part B ran out, I had to take him to his home, move in with him and nurse him. He was being tube fed by me, had a stage 4 bedsore on his coccyx, and was incontinent. I didn't get a solid 4 hours sleep at any time in those 3 months. Just before I brought him home, Mom went down with a stroke (see above). At one point, I realized that he was not of sound mind, and I had to have him taken for a psych/med evaluation. They found he had vascular dementia and some psychosis, in addition to the medical problems. The doctor asked me what the hell led me to believe I could care for him. But if I hadn't, he would have lost the house and been destitute. I couldn't allow that to happen. After I got him admitted to a nursing facility, he wouldn't speak to me for months. It broke my heart. But I continued to take care of his needs. Eventually we resolved the issues, and became father and son again. About 8 months ago, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and chose not to have treatment. The clock ran out on April 13, 2011. God be good to him.

I could write a book on the lessons, good and bad, that I have learned from his life and his passing. Maybe one day I will, but in the meantime, I am just sad. I will miss this man.

To my friends, like Spaw, whose trials I have been absent from, please know that I love you and apologize. Life just hasn't afforded me much time here, as I dealt with Ciara's tragedy, my father's burst abdominal aortic aneurysm, and my mother's stroke.

Yeah, my old man was a union man. I will sing his song all the days of my life.

All the best,

Mick