Sunday, June 21, 2015

Dear Dad (#3)

Dear Dad,

I haven’t written in a while, but am doing so today in that I am able to find comfort in my own thoughts and words.  And in my memories of you.

Out of all the firsts that have come so far this year, I think Father’s Day was the hardest.  Maybe it’s the fact that over the past month, I have been bombarded with e-mails and TV commercials about what to get dad for Father’s Day. 

For your birthday, I could suffer in silence.  But on a day when everyone is celebrating their father, I can’t celebrate you.  I can’t tell you how much I love you.  I can’t tell you all of the things that have happened in my life over the past 10 months, not all of them good.

I wanted to reply to all those e-mails and tell the offending companies that I don’t have a father to celebrate anymore, so stop sending me stupid e-mails that remind me of what I’m missing and make me feel worse.

Deep down, I know I’m not the only one suffering through Father’s Day.  I know I wasn’t the first person to lose their father and I know I won’t be the last, but it’s different when it’s you.  Because in a way, the pain feels singular.  It’s my own, unique brand of pain, and I can’t shut it off.     

As time goes by, things are supposed to get easier.  But sometimes, they don’t.  Sometimes I get so angry about what happened to you.  About the storm, about the police not doing their job.  About the whole thing.  Sometimes, I want to punch someone.  I want someone to experience 1 millionth of the pain I feel right now, and maybe, just maybe, they would understand. 

If there’s anything that death teaches us, it’s that life is short.  It teaches us to remember to say I love you.  I wish I had told you I loved you more than I did.  I wish I would have cherished the memories more while you were here, as much as I do now that you’re gone. 

I wish there would be more Tigers and Red Wings games in our future.  The last time I was at a game until the other day, was with you when I was home visiting last June.  And you had the best time that day.  You were yelling all sorts of things, and embarrassing the heck out of us, but I would take all of the embarrassment in the world if it meant having you here. 

I’m going to Washington D.C. this week, and I find myself missing you all the more.  The one and only time I was in D.C. was with you, when you chaperoned our 8th grade trip.  It was one crazy busy day, and I’ve found myself wanting to back there for a long time, but it has a different meaning now that you’re gone. 

I guess it speaks to how much you touched my life, when seemingly any time I turn around, there are memories of you everywhere.     

We never know when life will end, and we need to make the most of it while we’re here.  But lately, I find myself depressed.  I can’t really put that much effort into reading or writing, two things that were formerly my passions.  I know this feeling will pass, but it’s hard. 

I hope that all those who still have their father alive will do what I regret I didn’t do.  They will tell them they love and care about them, not just on Father’s Day, but every day of the year.    

I love you daddy, and I miss you more than you will ever know.



If you are interested in reading the other Dear Dad letters, you can read #1 and #2.

1 comment:

  1. He knew you loved him. And forgive me for being flaky, but... he knows you love him. Talk to him anyway. It helps