thank you, dad

Eleven years ago today, in the early hours of the morning, my dad passed away.  And still I grieve.

Grief never really goes away, it ebbs and flows as the tides of the ocean.  Sometimes I can smile as I remember.  Other times, tears flow unexpectedly.

Something I have learned about grieving is that it is really fed by the desire to pour out your love to someone who is not here to receive it.  I suppose that is true.  I would love to spend a day with my dad.  To have a conversation.  To cook for him.  To hear a story from his life before me.

Instead, I look for him and find him buried within my own personality.  I'm not just like my dad, rather I think I am a pretty fair mix between both my parents.  But the parts of my dad that I remember, like the way he'd get really quiet when he was upset, yep, me too.  He was a noticer of details and a rememberer of facts, yep, me too.  He was quick witted.  He liked music.  He loved his family.  He didn't like crowds.  Yep, me too.

Dad, you aren't here, but you are.  Someday I will hear your voice again and your laugh.  I'll see the sparkle in your blue eyes.  Until then, I miss you something fierce.  Please know I cherish the parts of myself that I inherited from you because they help me to remember you.  I hope you are proud of who I am, of what I do, because you are the driving force behind so much of it.

So today, like all the other days, I will carry on.  I will take care of my home and my family.  I will get some work done.  I'm going to make some chicken noodle soup for lunch.  I'm going to paint the trim in my bathroom that I've been putting off for a couple weeks.  And I'm going to allow my heart to feel and I'm going to be gentle with myself.

Thank you, Dad, for everything.