Dear Dad,
It feels like just yesterday I said goodbye for the last time. I promised I’d take care of things in your absence and I’ve done my very best. But I can’t help thinking about everything you’ve missed since you’ve been gone.
Your grandson graduated high school. He’s working hard every day and becoming a man you’d be proud of. Your granddaughter, who was still in junior high when we lost you, is now entering her senior year of high school. Can you believe that?
We’ve celebrated birthdays that felt quieter. Holidays that felt hollow. The days feel emptier without you here to fill the cup we call life.
I know I should feel grateful to have had you for 40 years… some people don’t get that kind of time. But if I’m being honest, I mostly feel angry and frustrated. I wasn’t ready to lose you. I wasn’t ready to face life without your guidance, your concern, and your classic sarcasm. The kids weren’t ready to hit their big life moments without their papa there to cheer them on. To teach them all the things only you could.
Grief is strange, Dad. Sometimes it ambushes me. Like when I walk into the grocery store and see the iced coffee you used to ask for. The only kind you could stomach in those final months. I see it, and I think of you. And then I cry.
Right there.
In the middle of the store.
People watching.
And I cry anyway.
Your birthday was this week. You would’ve been 66. I watched the video I made of your life and smiled through the tears. I laughed at the memories. I hope the kids carry those with them, and share them with their children someday.
But it’s still so hard to accept all the things you won’t be here for.
Her graduation.
His wedding.
Her college move-in day.
Her wedding.
Their babies.
My grandbabies.
When I finally marry the love of my life, the one who loves me the way you always hoped someone would.
You won’t be there. And that… breaks me.
I know you told me not to cry for you. But I’m failing at that.
I miss our talks.
I miss your laugh.
I miss your Gary-isms.
I miss the way your face lit up when teaching the grandkids something new.
I miss football games in the fall.
Silly gifts.
Music trivia on the houseboat.
I miss all of it.
But mostly, I miss you.
I wish I could hug you one more time and tell you how much I love you.
I hope you’re watching. I hope you see how much the kids still adore you.
And I hope you’re proud of me… of the woman you raised.
Strong.
Resilient.
Confident.
Driven with purpose.
I love you, Dad.
Always.
Love,
Lish
“You may be gone from my sight, but you’re never gone from my story.”