Early in the day of November 15th 2008 I felt an unexplained sense of difference, for whatever reason I was guided to call out from work - two hours into my night off I received "The Phone Call" from my good friend Nate D. of Virginia Beach, Virginia. The moment I heard Nate's voice I knew - my biological Father had lost his battle with cancer.

Late in the evening of November 20th 2008 my Mother and I arrived in Clayton, Delaware as the next morning we were to bury my Father. The days leading up to my Father's funeral were exhausting both emotionally and mentally - the "Dramatics of Debbie Smith of Dover, Delaware" were causing a great deal of heartache.

At the funeral I was unable to stand next to my Father's casket until my Uncle Glenn arrived at which point I stood next to my Father's casket meeting the many individuals who knew my Father - over and over I heard the same heart felt words: "I would never had made it in the State Police had your Father not been there." "I looked forward to coming to work because your Father always kept it interesting." "You look just like your Father, you have his smile." "Your Father was a good man." "Your Father loved you." The funeral service was straight to the point, an exact imitation of how my Father lived his life.

When the Funeral Home Director came into the room to announce the Paul Barriers were going to move Father's casket into the motorcycle Hurst (Yes, it was a Harley Davidson) my ex-Stepmother, biological Mother and I held hands walking down the aisle following my Father's casket - Debbie Smith ran down the aisle and jumped in front of us three; classy woman!

As my Father's casket lay inside the Hurst it was time to follow the Police Brigade and body to the burial site - God happened to be on my side this very morning as we jumped right in line behind my Father's casket allowing Debbie Smith to follow us - "HOOOOOOOONK!" comes from the Hummer my dying Father just so happened to purchase on his deathbed. (Queue the cell phones as everyone is in complete shock that Bruce H. Peachey Jr.'s daughter stepped on the toes of the much disliked (dare I say hated) (And I quote) "Gold Digging Bitch" who kept my Father in complete isolation allowing no one to visit him and convinced him to sign over his Estate to her and her daughter four days before his death). At the burial site we arrive... The (And I quote) "Gold Digging Bitch" jumped out of her new Hummer yelling: "You may have gotten in front of me but you are not sitting next to his casket, it's been arranged. We'll see who is going to hell, you are a bitch." I gracefully walk to my Father's casket firmly planting my bottom on one of the five chairs unresponsive to Debbie Smith - following a short Prayer and song "Amazing Grace" it was time to bid farewell to a man I had come to love not by default by but by heart. I lay within the marble box several pictures, the single most important item of my Military Career thus far, kiss the head of his casket and salute the most Patriotic man I have ever known all while Debbie Smith and her daughter Felicia Baker joke and giggle at the foot of his casket laughing (And I quote) "Can't wait to take our trip to Cancun." "Look! There is already dirt on his casket." "Can we hurry up and get him in the ground." "Felicia wants to sit on his casket." I slowly turn and walk to the car - looking back at the sad ending no person deserves.

Following the burial I attended a reception where only the closest of my Father's friends gathered to share stories over pictures, beer and homemade food. The event was not without encouragement to fight the (And I quote) "Gold Digging Bitch" as my Father was manipulated and isolated by Debbie Smith.

For the ten years I had known my Father if anything was learned it was that Debbie Smith was not the (And I quote) "Love of my Father's life" but Cathy, his second-wife he left Mother and I for, was the love of his life - for several days following the burial I investigated the situation thoroughly to evaluate whether or not I would proceed with contesting my biological Father's Will as his only living relative, he died unmarried as he and Cathy divorced after ten years of marriage; no Church would marry Debbie Smith and my dying Father despite her multiple attempts. For the sake of my sanity I will spare the exact details of the situation from this point and simply explain my ultimate decision:


I left without contesting despite the support from the closest of his friends and numerous indications my Father intended for me to have a part of his Estate.

The multiple reasons to contest:

Yes, I am his only living child.
Yes, he is my Father.
Yes, he intended to leave me part of his Estate.
Yes, based on principle alone I should contest the Will.
Yes, I could use the money.


The single reason not to contest:

A man who (for lack of a better term) ruled women never allowing them (with the exception of Cathy) to conquer his heart, his Spirit and Soul ultimately met his Karma in the form of a woman, Debbie Smith of Dover, Delaware. I am not my Father's warrior - he made his choice by allowing her to stay by his side through the early stages of his disease cutting from his life his daughter (and I quote from the last phone conversation we had) "I don't need you Sally, I have Debbie here to care for me." Yet, I flew home only to be turned away - I buried my Father with a clear conscious, I was not raised to value money over all else.


At this point in my life I only struggle with one future situation regarding my biological Father: If I have children what do I tell them about my biological Father?


The most private of opinions, my view of my Father:

Not the ideal Father figure but a damn proud American who served his State dying a close friend and loved one to many. I love my Father for the person he became in my eyes, not judging his last few actions - for the many lives he touched, for the few memories I will always have of him. My Father was a human being just like the rest of existing in this world trying to survive, striving to achieve and ultimately praying to rest in the arms of our God of choice.

The moments I shared with my Father's Spirit on the car ride back to Virginia are of the most private - being the human I am, I stare at the computer screen recalling the words I spoke, the tears I shed and the pain the that will always live within my heart - choices I chose not to make but must live with. [Personal note to self: there is a reason those exact words were written without thought.]