As hard as it is to say, I realize I am incredibly lucky to feel the pain of loss that I do. It shows how much I loved and was loved by my dad. I never had to question how much he loved me. He told me all the time, but he also showed me. He showed me when he bought a tee and football and played with me in the cold because he said I could be the first female kicker at NC State if I wanted to be. He showed me when he built a soccer goal for the yard out of leftover pvc pipe. He showed me when he let me help him fix or build things around the house. He showed me when he sent me random texts and took pictures of me when I didn’t know it. He was everything a dad should be. He always let us help and ask questions. He always pretended he didn’t know things so we could tell him what we learned at school. He filmed everything for him, but it’s the greatest gift he ever gave us. Grief sucks. Loss sucks. Sometimes, life sucks. It’s not fair, but it is what it is. I’ve been dealt some crappy cards, no doubt, but everybody has something they wish they didn’t have to deal with. One day this won’t hurt as much, but I don’t think I’m ready for that. As long as this pain is fresh, it means you haven’t been gone so long. I’ve reached a point in this constant journey of grief where it’s less traumatic pain now. I guess that’s good, but it also means the shock is gone. I feel everything these days. I feel the sadness when I reach to call you and tell you about school. I feel the emptiness at home when I go to poke fun at mom like we used to. I feel the anxiety when I realize that I only have what I have of you—I’ll never get anything else. I feel the lump in my throat every time I write about you because nothing I say will do justice to the dad that you were.
The world would be such a nicer place if everyone’s dad was half as good as mine. Thank you for everything, dad. I love you more than anything and everything. And thanks for sending the snow today—you knew when I needed it.
Comments