The Heat is On

Dear Dad,

I don't know if I am more mad at you, or myself. Why you? Duh, because you are not here! But really, really, at myself for not knowing anything about being a home owner (2.5 years later).

This realization came last month when, on a balmy 100 plus degree day, I noticed it was sweltering hot... in the HOUSE. Checked the thermostat. 85 degrees inside. So I turned the temperature down figuring someone messed with it (did I mention I know NOTHING about being a home owner?).

It wasn't until hours later when Brett got home (and it was still hot as HELL) that I realized the AC was not actually working (no matter how low I turned it). If I ever swore, it would have been that day. The kids were pink faced and sweating, Brett was frustrated and all of a sudden in panic mode about the money it would cost to fix, and me? Well, we both know what a lovely person I am when I have to deal with something that wasn't anticipated.

Lucky for us, we know a guy.

So we call my friend Georgia. Do you remember my friend from way back in elementary school? She lived by Safeway? I got in trouble for prank calling "penis" with her when we were 12? Yeah, her. Anyway, her father-in-law is an AC guy. We got his number and made the call. George (the father-in-law) promised to come over in the morning.

The next day, bright and early, he was knocking at the door, tools in hand. That was the first time it hit me - this should be MY father standing on the stoop. He was the one who promised to help me with my house when I became a home owner.

I couldn't shake the feeling, so I made Brett show George where everything was. After I thought I pulled myself together I went outside to find out what the prognosis was.

It wasn't good. George and Brett had been tearing apart a box that I had built around the outside AC fan unit so that the kids wouldn't stick their fingers inside. The box didn't allow enough air flow and burnt out the AC.

George looked up and said seven words that almost killed me, "I am very disappointed in you, Jillian."

He didn't say it with malice, he just meant that I should have gotten a better contractor who would tell me that the box I wanted built would kill the AC. All I heard was YOU telling me you were disappointed in me.

Then he asked me, "If you didn't know what you were doing, why didn't you ask someone?"

I choked back my tears in silence wishing I knew how to say the "someone" I usually ask was now a box of ashes on my dresser.

I just feel abandoned and totally helpless in these situations. You were supposed to help me. You promised. You told me that real estate was the best investment I could make, and I would never have to worry about having a good handy man. Now I have this house, which I love, but every time something breaks, so does my heart.

I wish you were here.

Love you,
Jill