Dear Daddy,
As I sit here by the fire visualizing the family home decorated with multiple trees, multiple children, boundless love and laughter, my heart aches for the sound of your voice...your kiss on my forehead...your corney jokes...your wisdom. There are many times when driving home in the car I reach for my phone to dial you before realizing that your number has been disconnected. I have questions Dad. Many questions. What should I do about the mold in the corner of my basement? What about my life insurance, my meager investments? Is the foundation of my house strong enough? Will it survive the storms yet to come its way? Is the foundation of my person strong enough? Will I stand up to the challenges yet to come my way? What about my future...is this the path I am meant to travel? What should I say to my children when they ask me crucial questions about the nature of life, choice and consequence?
I am grateful to you for joining me in my runs, meditations, moments of mourning. I feel you there...often. I realize that I speak to you now more that you are gone than I did while you were living. I regret that I rationalized my silence by the fact that we both had busy lives separated by 1000 miles and endless family/work/personal obligations. It is with the deepest sorrow that I confess that in the end..when you reached out to me...I turned away. I was afraid of something far less devastating than what actually came to pass. I learned my lesson...much too late...there is no recourse...as of yet, minimal healing.
I am frequently suprised by the depth of the waves of grief that crash against me, hold me down in the swirling darkness, and slam me face first into the sand. It seems to me that as the years pass, the grief would fade, scar tissue would smother and dampen the sensation. This does not seem to be so. The grief waxes and wanes with the moments, days, weeks, each return is different. Not better, not easier to bear, but different.
I feel that there is no closure in this correspondence, just as I have not found acceptance nor closure in the loss of my sweet, sweet father. I think of you often. I miss you daily. I love you. Here's a fish.
