Well, it's here again. It doesn't seem possible, didn't I just do this? Has it really already been another year? Time moves quickly. Eight years has come and gone. I look back at the changes that have been made over the last 8 years, I look at who I have become, where my family has gone, who my kids are becoming... And I miss him. Still.
I still want him here, watching his grandson play football, taking his granddaughter on dates... I long to talk to him about so many things. I want to hear his voice, have one of our daddy-daughter dates. He is still in my dreams every night.
I guess it's apropos he died near Valentine's Day. He loved that day. Daddy's love language was gift-giving. He wasn't always great at expressing his love with words, but he did a stellar job in the gift department, and Valentine's Day was the ultimate expression of that. Jewelry. Nice jewelry. That was his go-to for Valentine's Day. Daddy didn't go half-in on his gifts; he did nothing half-way, whether for the better or worse.
As I type this I am altering between tears streaming to the point where I cannot see the screen and smiles and laughter as fond memories come racing back.
He wasn't the easiest man to live with, that's for sure. Once he made up his mind, it was law. There was no going back or altering his opinion. He was as stubborn as the day is long. Even more so. I come by that honestly.
My 1st entry about my dad occurred when he died. I have always loved the written word and can often express myself more thoroughly when writing than speaking. I began to write the day after he died. It was my release. My way of remembering and mourning. It seemed to help, so each year I have continued. I know this is a selfish indulgence, something that only benefits me, but I'm ok with that. You'd think after 8 years I'd run out of things to say, but that just doesn't seem to be the case.
You'd think after 8 years I'd be able to go a day without missing him, but that hasn't happened yet either. Maybe someday, but I doubt it.
In the wee hours of this morning, about the time he passed, my family was getting to a spot where we could watch an old hotel be imploded. I recognized the time and immediately thought of him. He would have loved to have been there, watching as it fell. He would have seen the drones flying over taking video and immediately decided that he needed one, and then would have gone out and purchased the best one he could find, without hesitation. I can see him playing with it now, figuring out all the buttons and features.
I have to laugh---and cry---thinking of what could have been.
The only thing I hold onto is my faith. My faith that he also held the same belief as me, that he had put his trust in Jesus and because of that is now in a much better place, where cancer and illness cannot ravage him.
Someday I'll get to see him again. Until that day, I'll keep writing, keep remembering, and I'm sure keep grieving.
Happy homecoming day, Daddy. You surely are missed down here!