Dear Dad

Christmas was hard for a total of 2 hours. Spurts of time where I felt like I couldn't breathe and I wasn't sure if I was going to be ok. Then, suddenly, it was. I don't know if it was the memories of you that carried me through or if it really was time healing my wound. I'll always have a small place in my heart missing, but it feels like I'm getting used to that part.

Mom gave us one of your model trains to remember you by. It went next to your hat and picture in the hutch you gave us. Every time I look at those things in that hutch, a little part of me hurts. But not so much that I can't make it through the day.

Mom told me things are getting better for her. She said she isn't having as many flashbacks. When I asked her what her flashbacks where of, she said how crushed we all were when you died. That sent me into a tailspin because it was so true. I was so crushed. I remember the next morning when I woke up (I actually fell asleep?) and it was like I had never taken a break from grieving. I woke up with tears already in my eyes, with a weight on my saddened heart. I'm glad I don't wake up like that anymore.

Eric said the memories will keep you alive, and they do. I've stopped looking for signs of you, because those signs are in my heart and mind. When I remember the things you did for me, said to me, showed me, that keeps you alive. I'm still able to hear your voice in my head. I'm still able to see you laugh that ridiculous laugh when you thought something was really funny. And it has almost been a year. But I still keep you alive and through those memories, the horrible memories of your death are disappearing. I can't remember the exact details of you lying on the emergency room table, just the fact that you were. I can't remember exactly what you looked like at your wake, but that you were in a casket.

I miss you so much. Goodbye 2009.

Laura

Dear Dad

I haven't written you in over two months. Maybe that's a good thing.

Every time I think of you, I can't help but come back to the things you always showed me. I saw a sundog the other day. I've never seen one, and there were TWO in the sky. It's like I'm noticing things about life I never noticed before.

I've never noticed how beautiful it is when it snows. Really snows. We got a foot of snow last week and it was so pretty. I can't remember any other time it was that beautiful to see. Or another time that it took my breath away.

This kind of weather makes me think of the last time I ever talked to you. You called me about it being so cold I needed to throw a glass of water outside and watch it freeze in the air. You know, I still have never done that??? I will sometime. Some day. Maybe that's something I will show my own kids.

When I was home last, I found a note you had written me right after I had my eyebrow pierced. It was shocking to come across something you had written when you were alive after you're gone. I was immediately overwhelmed and my chest felt tight. It felt like the walls were closing in on me and in one eerie moment, that you were there with me. Probably laughing while I read that.

I never knew that's how much you loved me. It's obligatory for parents to love their children, sure, and God knows there are too many parents in this world that don't. But that letter showed me you REALLY loved me. Really, truly, deeply, wholly. I wonder why you never gave me that letter?

I miss you every day. Sometimes I can hear you clearly in my head, laughing or telling a joke, or telling me what I'm doing wrong. Other times I struggle to hear your voice. I struggle to find just the right timbre of your laugh.

The image of you lying on the emergency room table is fading and other memories are replacing it. I'm grateful for that. Thank you for that. I know you have something to do with it.

Christmas is going to be hard, but it's not something I won't be able to survive. The first few months I after you died I wasn't sure if I was going to survive. After that, Christmas should be a peice of cake! I'm still worried about what it's going to be like. I'm trying to come up with things that we can do that have nothing to do with any sort of tradition we had as a family in the past. It's hard, but I think I'm coming up with some good things. Mom suggested baking sugar cookies and decorating them. I suggested Scrabble. Where the hell did that come from??? I can't bake sugar cookies without you. I'll probably never bake them again. Too many memories of school being cancelled or being home from college on break and baking/decorating cookies, just you and me in the kitchen. And you'd always eat the broken ones. Eric does that exact same thing.

I love you and miss you. I wish I could hug you, hold you, kiss you one more time. I wish I could tell you I love you one more time. I guess this is going to have to be good enough. I hate the fact taht in this situation, almost has to be good enough.

Laura

Dear Dad

8 months and 2 days. Today is Allan's birthday. I also came home to help mom with the estate sale. I cried on the way up. I cried when I got here. I cried when I went into the shop. I cried when Eric left me alone to wait for mom to get back from her class.

I was in your shop and I became obsessed with taking everything in. But yet, I didn't want to be there. I keep looking for you. I keep wanting to get some sort of feeling of you. But it's not there. I just scoured the house looking for the orange shirt you wore all the time. Mom said she didn't throw it away, but all your stuff is gone from her closet. I saw the picture of you in your orange shirt with Jack when he was just a baby. You look so happy with him. And you're wearing that orange shirt. I have to have to have to touch it. I don't know why. I looked everywhere for it. I couldn't find it. I just don't know where else to look.

I miss you so much it hurts. It hurts almost all the time. I try to keep myself busy but sometimes, it doesn't help.

God I miss you.

Dear Dad

I've stopped counting the days since you've been gone. I don't know if that's because my life has become a crazy whirlwind of time, or if it's because I'm finally starting to heal. But then I wonder, will I ever really heal from this?

I really wish I could talk to you. There are so many times I pass your number in my phone and want to push "talk." There are so many times I wish I could come home and go for a ride on your motorcycle. And once in awhile, I even miss your lectures. Never thought I would have seen that coming!

I really wish I could talk to you about everything that has been going on since you died. It's been so crazy and hectic that I wonder if I've even started to grieve for you yet. It's been so absolutely absurd that I know you would have just shaken your head and said, "Get out when you can." That's what I plan to do.

I miss you terribly at the most random times. Beyond the eagle I saw the last time I wrote, I saw an owl for the first time in the wild a few weeks ago. It was beautiful and huge and right in my back yard! Just like the time I found a random turtle in our front yard, I wanted to call you and just tell you about it. I know you would have been unenthusiastic about it, as you were most times I called you about stupid things like that, but I know you were always glad to hear from me, even if it was about stupid stuff. And it's nice to be able to write this and not burst into tears.

So this owl is just another sign from you, I think. Just another sign that you're still here, somewhere, to show me new things I have never seen before. I know other people will take your place, slowly, and show me other things I've never seen before, but I'll always believe it's just you, working through others that I love just as much as I do you.

I never really got to know you the way that I wanted to get to you know you. Sure, we had our moments, but we didn't have the relationship that I hear other daughters talk about having with their fathers. It's not your fault. You were gone a lot so you could put food on the table, but everything that has been happening in the past months has made me really realize - do I want to miss my kids growing up just so I can put food on the table? Or should I be looking for another job that I can sink my teeth into that will give me just as good of pay, but more time to start and spend with my family. What do you think? You'll have to show me in some way or another...

I'll be watching for you. I love you.

Dear Dad

Today has been 6 months. In those six months, I have not felt more blindsided. I have felt things I have never before and seen things that remind me of you.

I have never seen anything more beautiful than an eagle which swooped down right in front of the car while mom and I were driving back from Mason City one day last week. It was so big and beautiful in the way that it moved I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The lack of noise in the car made it even more surreal and the fact that I couldn't hear the beating of it's wings made it hard for me to believe what was happening less than 30 feet in front of the car. It brought tears to my eyes because I was instantly reminded of you.

You used to show me things that I've never seen before. I remember the first time I saw a loon in Canada, you were the one to point it out. Although I was young, I remember it being beautiful on the lake at twilight. Once we went on a walk together and you put a penny down on the railroad tracks by our house. After the train went by, you picked it up and right there in front of my eyes, it was completely flattened. I remember being completely amazed that a train could do that to a penny. I remember you telling me that you can only do that when the train is moving because if you put a penny in front of the wheel when it's stopped, it can't go anywhere. That information was simply unbelievable to me.

You developed my love for riding motorcycles. I remember the first time I rode with you, I loved the feeling of nothing surrounding me. Instead of the world passing me by, I was passing the world by, feeling weightless and quite frankly, free. It was glorious. I loved and treasured those bike rides with you. You showed me how to make ice cream from scratch. I still remember how it tasted! Nothing like I had had before! You showed me how to make cut-out cookies. And of course, the frosting to go with it. :)

There are so many things I am so grateful for. I'm so grateful to you for so many things.

I miss you showing me things. I miss you.

Dear Dad

I feel inadequate. I feel like an inadequate wife whose husband can't even talk to her anymore without her flying off the handle. I feel like an inadequate sister because I haven't talked to Chris since you died. I feel like an inadequate teacher because I am only remotely excited to go back to school. I feel like an inadequate human being because I look around at other people and wonder why the hell they don't feel like this.

I can't talk about my feelings about this because I simply cannot put them into words. But I'm going to try here:

• My heart breaks wide open anytime I pass Corporate Woods Drive on I-35 Northbound. Sometimes I cry, other times I don't. Most of the time, I just try to bite my lip to keep from feeling like a failure. It's just a fucking exit on the interstate, right? Why does some little green sign have such a grip on my life?
• My stomach jumps into my throat anytime I am caught off-guard by an impromptu memory. Something that I haven't thought about in so long that it takes my breath away.
• I go to your grave and feel absolutely nothing. People keep telling me that you are always with me but when I go to your grave, I don't feel that at all. So I keep looking for some sign - something that tells me they're right. But I look so hard, and all I see is constant reminders that you are never coming back.
• There are sincerely times that I am genuinely happy and for that, I feel guilty. The kind of guilt that swims over you when you realize you've done or said something you shouldn't have.
• Regret. I have horrible regrets. So much so I can't put all of them into words.

I miss you.

Dear Dad

I'm going home tomorrow to plant a tree in your memory. A bunch of your friends are coming and we're planting a big oak tree, since your favorite wood was oak. 

I'm doing ok, but not great. I'm not terrible either. I'm simply middle of the road. Some days I'm numb, some days I'm really angry and some days I feel like I'll be ok. There are several milliseconds of my life that I question my emotional stability, but I try to stay busy so they don't add up to minutes and hours and days and months wondering when I will be ok. One day at a time, right? 

I miss you. More than anything in the world. If I had to give up seeing the sun, smelling fresh cut grass and feeling the breeze on my face to see you one more time, laughing like you always did, I would. Even if it were a millisecond. 

I try to keep mom in good spirits, but I feel like I'm faking it. I always seem to succeed in cheering her up with something, but how is it that I can cheer her up and I can't even do it for myself? I can always share some words of wisdom, but I can't seem to follow the path of that wisdom. I am able to laugh on the phone with her, but I can't seem to laugh on my own. Why is that? 

Mom emailed me at work the other day telling me how she'd had a bad couple of weeks - although I already knew that threw the thousands of conversations we have. I had to put my head on my desk and breathe, cry and recuperate before someone walked into my office. It hurt, I was sad, it brought a lot of things back. 

Why do I have to be the one to comfort her all the time? Why can't Allan and Chris realize that I'm pulling most of mom's grief around with me? I understand we're close because we're both women, I'm her only daughter and the only child of yours that lives within 1000 miles of her, but still. I don't want to be the one to lug it around all by myself. 

I called Allan the other night and he told me he's doing ok. It sounded like he's doing a lot better than I am with everything. Is it because he's over 1000 miles from the situation? From mom crying on the phone? From the chores that you used to do and now Eric and I have to pick up the slack? The fact that they're planting a tree in your memory tomorrow doesn't bother me, but it does bother me that I am the one child obligated to go, simply because of distance. I can't resent them for choosing where they live and what they do, but I do resent them for letting me bear the weight. I love them, but I resent them at the same time. I care about them and how they're doing, but I have not once gotten asked if I'm ok. They have to know everything I'm doing for mom. Mom tells them about it herself. 

I'm frustrated, confused, hurt, sad, angry and resenting my brothers - the men who I love as much as I loved you. 

Even more, I'm missing you like you wouldn't believe. Pictures and memories are just not enough. I need you back. 

Dear Dad

Here's what your death has done to me.

• I sleep a lot and well because I'm always so emotionally exhausted. 
• I have thrown myself into work. Leaving no time for friends, family, or grieving for that matter. I always feel under a deadline and that I have to perform for my best no matter what.
• I feel incredibly guilty anytime I see mom. How can I be having these feelings when she must be having them 10 fold.
• I have thrown myself into books. Take me far far away from here.
• I have no appetite but force myself to eat. The only thing that ever sounds good is spinach and artichoke dip - which I discovered shortly after you died.
• Sometimes I have random flashbacks of you lying on the emergency room table. Or I get this terrible feeling in my heart when I realize it's spring and you were supposed to sharpen our lawn-mower blades, or help us cut ridge cap when we re-shingled our roof.
• I am ornery with my husband for no reason at all and especially when he doesn't deserve it. 
• I lay in bed more often, even when I'm not tired. 
• I'm sad. Not depressed, I don't feel as though I don't want to live anymore. Deep inside, I understand this is a part of life. But why did it have to be a part of my life so soon? That's what makes me sad.

I've taken to reading other people's blogs about losing parents. It helps to know that others have gone or are going through it. It's nice to know my friends care about how I'm feeling, even though I've tried to distance myself from them so they don't get too annoyed with my "sadness." However, reading other people's feelings either bring back some severe feelings of my own, or resentment of other people's remarks regarding that particular blog. Some people seem as though they need to comment, "I'm so sorry for your loss." I get angry at that. 

I had a student tell me the other day she knew what I was going through. Since I know both her LIVING parents very well, I looked at her fiercely and said, "No, no you don't. You have no IDEA what I'm going through." 

The fact that I have to comfort mom every time she calls me crying? 

The fact that I have to put on a "charming" face for my choirs every day, even though I really want to rip my heart out?

The fact that I can't seem to get a grip on when the tears are going to come out? Or the angry outbursts? Or the sadness?

The fact that even after a parent dies, it's not over for a long time. There's still so much to deal with regarding their personal effects and the way you have to handle your family from here on out.

I feel alone, but I know I'm not. But I can't help but feel that way.

God I miss you dad. I miss you so much, it makes my heart ache every day.

Dear Dad

It's been one hell of a few weeks. A week and a half ago, I woke up after a "woulda-coulda-shoulda" dream. I would have run to you first had mom not been in my line of sight, I could have hugged you first and exclaimed "Daddy!" instead of "Mommy!", I should have. Period. I woke up on a rainy morning with this huge hole in my heart. Not the kind of metaphorical hole you might think of when reading that, but an actual hole. I was empty - devoid of any emotions except extreme anger. With myself, with my job, with the students I teach, with my life, and especially, about your death. I was angry with my brothers for not being here physically for mom, I was angry with how it was raining and dark and dreary that morning, I was angry with myself for not actually taking the time to express my excitement for you being at my concert as I did with mom. I got to work and exploded. I haven't sobbed like that since I first heard the news, since I last saw you - dead, in a coffin - and since I finally laid you to rest beneath the ground. The following day - Friday - I met mom to go to the lawyer. They talked about your death, which was excrutiating to hear. I wanted to stop them and scream at them. I wanted to march over to the Clear Lake Fire Department and ask them why the hell they didn't have the tools THERE TO HELP YOU. I wanted to know WHY YOU WERE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME. GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT. 

When I met mom for the appt. at the lawyers, she gave me a sack saying there were some books and things inside that she thought I might like. I took it and absentmindedly threw it in the passenger seat. I didn't think about looking at it until I got home that night. The first thing I took out was your hat. Still smelled like you, the shop, your life. Still had dirt on it. Right there you were in front of my eyes, wearing it the stupid way you always wore it and all of a sudden I couldn't touch it anymore. I laid it on the counter where it stayed for the rest of the night. All of a sudden, I was sobbing again. Sobbing like I did when I heard the news, when I last saw you laying dead in a coffin, when I laid you to rest beneath the ground. GOD DAMNIT. Sobbing like that dreary Thursday morning when I felt empty inside. Empty. GOD DAMNIT. The rest of my weekend, I was exhausted. 

We went home this weekend (one month, 29 days) and my body felt limp when we pulled in the driveway. It was like I couldn't pull my body out of the vehicle. I was dreading going into that house. But I made myself, for mom. I tried to gather myself, but I couldn't stop crying. She led me into the closet you built her (GOD DAMNIT) but I couldn't do it just yet. I needed to do it alone. So I took some time to calm myself and went into your bedroom alone (although I told mom I was looking for chapstick). I just stood there and took it all in - you weren't there anymore. Your presence was gone. Your clothes were gone. Your things were gone. You were gone. It was hard to take in. 

I must have taken too long because mom finally came in. I was so entranced by trying to find SOMETHING left of you (GOD DAMNIT) that she scared me. And then I lost it. I tried to be strong for her, I swear I did. I didn't do a very good job that night. 

Later on we went into the shed - yet another thing I had to brace myself for. Again, your presence was gone. It was hard to keep myself together - I don't know how Eric did it. I could talk, walk, act normal, but I couldn't keep the tears from falling. It was like I was some mutant - perfectly normal except for blurry, tearing eyes and a tear-stained face. 

The next day (one month, 30 days) was better, but I still felt empty. It was the following day (one month, 31 days) that hit me the hardest. I was fine, mom was not. She's so sad - she started sobbing when we were saying our goodbyes. It wrenched my heart out (what's left of it). I could hardly stand to leave her. When we finally got into the car, I yelled at Eric to hurry up and leave. GOD DAMNIT. I couldn't stand slowly pulling out of our driveway, out of town and inevitably, out of her sadness. It needed to be lightening-speed or I wasn't going to make it emotionally. 

You'd be so proud of Eric - he's been the most supportive, loving husband I could ask for. He's done what I've asked when I've said, "Leave me the fuck alone" or "Stop touching me." He's supported me when I'm sobbing and he's not sure what memory (GOD DAMNIT) might have triggered it this time. He's done an awesome job cheering me up when I've needed it. He's been the ideal husband. I don't know what I would do without him. Then again, I wasn't ever sure what I would do without you, and here I am. I've learned that it fucking sucks, that's for sure.

I love you (GOD DAMNIT) and I miss you more. Why did this have to happen?

Dear Dad

It's not getting easier...but it is getting better. Thank you for that.

I haven't cried for a week. I've been sad, I've teared up, but I haven't cried for a week. Mom sent your obituary, which the funeral home had laminated for us, and your guestbook off Globe Gazette online. It was nice, but hard to receive a month after we buried you. I will probably never look at February 6 or February 13 the same again. I wonder how long I'll count the months? I wonder how long it will take me to stop thinking to myself, "We buried you 1 month and 4 days ago." Or "You died 1 month and 11 days ago." I wonder what your birthday will be like. I wonder what Easter will be like - April 12. 1 month and 29 days. 

I feel a lot stronger than I have in a long time. For awhile I wasn't sure how to do anything without you. Now I know I don't have to necessarily do it without you, I just can't ask you for advice. But I think you raised me well enough to know that even though you're not there to give advice, I can still think back to what you would say. It's surprising that although we didn't talk much below the surface, I knew you really well. I'm thankful and lucky to be able to say that.

There are times where memories will catch me off-guard. How calm I was in the emergency room for one thing. I was crying sure, but I wasn't sobbing. I remember leaving the emergency room. It was like leaving a part of my heart behind. I remember mechanically walking out of the emergency room doors - forcing myself to look at the ground so I wouldn't look back. That's a lot of what this month has been like. I can't look back. That's when I start to cry. I just keep looking forward and with spring right around the corner, it's not so bad anymore. 

I sigh a lot. My mom said that is something that comes with the death of a close loved one. You sigh a lot. I never realized it until one night I caught myself sighing for no apparent reason. Usually I sigh because I'm annoyed. Now I don't even know when I do it, it will just catch me off-guard. Just like the memories. Just like your death.

I'm managing. I'm not ok by any means, but I feel the strength from somewhere to keep going forward. That strength came the night of my concert - I got through it. There were tears shed, but I got through it. Because you were there? I felt this moment, right before I walked onstage, like you were hugging me. Only it was just me in my high heels holding my baton. With tears in my eyes. This unbelievable strength came over me and that's how I know it will be ok. Thank you for that. It sounds crazy, believe me. I'd be embarrassed to tell anyone about it, but thank you for that. I know it was you. I know it will be you with every difficult step forward. 

I miss you. But I'm getting used to it. Maybe because I couldn't believe you had been taken away from me. Now I believe you are always with me. That makes the difference. 

Dear Dad

Tonight I have my first concert without you. I'm sure my kids will do great. I'm wondering how well I'll do. 

Tears crop up at the most random of moments. Sobs burst out when I'm least expecting it. Just like your death, my grief is catching me off-guard. One moment I think I'm ok to go on and the next moment I'm not sure if I can. 

I got home from school today and sat in my living room waiting for your car to pull up. We had the stupidest traditions whenever I had a choir concert, but you were always there with the pizza and sitting outside my house waiting for me to get home from school. This is the first time Eric will have to drive to my concert alone. 

I remember the last concert - I turned around to present my choir and you were right there, smack dab in the middle of the auditorium. I'm afraid tonight if I turn around what's going to happen. Will I see you there? Will I feel you there? I hope so. I'm not sure how to do it without you. 

I'm not sure how to do a lot without you. 

Dear Dad

I don't dream of you. I wish I did. 

They say there are 5 stages to grief. That's bullshit. This is what I think Grief really feels like:

• The world is continuing on without you and when you shout for it to wait up, it moves faster.
  
• Your legs are really heavy but it feels like you're floating.
• People talk to you but you can't hear what they're saying. When you replay the conversation in your head later, all you can remember is their actions.
• You just don't fucking understand. 
• You have this ridiculous desire to have children.
• You try and learn everything you can about their death and what lead up to it. Even if it's nearly impossible to fathom. 
• One single still-life picture of them from a random memory in your life keeps popping up in your head.
• You get really angry at the wrong people. Sometimes for no reason.
• You desperately want to call everyone that had any contact with them. And just talk. Even if you don't know them that well. 
• You have a hard time doing the things you love. 
• You see people that look like them. And think it is them. And it's uncomfortable because you know your heart is just playing tricks on you. 
• You think over and over that had I done it differently, I would have said, "I love you" at the end.

I miss you dad. And love you just as much. This doesn't get easier...but I am getting used to it. 

Dear Dad

Everyday I think about your laugh - the one you had when someone surprised you by saying something really funny. And you'd put your hand over your mouth and laugh. That one. I just don't want to forget it. 

Everyday I think about Mom - how is she doing today? Was it a good day or a bad day? Is she going to be ok? 

Everyday I think about my brothers and how I miss them so much. 

Everyday I think about one memory I have of you just to keep it alive. 

Everyday I have to take one deep breath before diving into my classroom just to keep it together in front of my students. 

Everyday there's something new that creeps up which I haven't done since you died. Everytime I do it, I cry. 

Everyday I wonder what I would be like if you didn't help raise me. 

Everyday I think about something I would love to tell you at that moment. 

Everyday I wonder about what I would really say if I had the chance to say one last thing to you.

Everyday I am happy I made the effort to forge a better relationship with you. It was pretty good in the end. 

Everyday I regret not throwing a glass of hot water in the air on the day the high was -12. It would have given us something more to talk about. 

Everyday I wonder if you knew you were sick. If you knew your time was coming. Was that why you ordered Mom roses? Is that why you didn't have any projects half-finished? Is that why you spend Superbowl Sunday with all your friends? 

Everyday I wonder if I'm going to make it through my next concert. And the one after that. And the one after that. 

Everyday I wonder if there will be a day where I DON'T read your eulogy over and over and over again. 

Everyday I wonder if and when I'm going to cry.

Everyday I'm thankful for you. For the things you did for me, the things you taught me and especially how you raised me.

Everyday I see a little of you in my husband. It's so true that we marry someone like our dad!

Everyday I miss you a little more. And things hurt a little less. 

Dear Dad

Here are the things I remember about you:

• The time you surprised me by ordering donuts from Aunt Pat's bakery when we all were together for Alvin's funeral.
• The time you surprised me at Hickory Park when I was there with the student council in high school. You sent a sundae to my table and I had no idea what was going on. Then I sat with you and had lunch. It was an awesome surprise. 
• When you first taught me to drive a stick-shift. And how you looked sitting in the passenger seat!!!
• When you made me dig the 2 ft. deep trench that was 20 feet long through clay and rocks. And how much it sucked but felt so accomplishing.
• Riding your motorcycle on really beautiful summer days.  And taking off our helmets when Mom was out of sight.
• Roasting marshmallows with you and mom out back. 
• Cleaning the summer house for my first "boy/girl" party in 7th grade. 
• How proud you were of me when I was crowned Homecoming Queen.
• How much you loved Eric and the fact that I had found a man so similar to you. 
• You always blamed my friends for the garage door never being shut. Then years later we finally found out that it was due to a faulty wheel. 
• When it was really cold outside and you'd call me to throw a glass of hot water into the air. 
• When we'd talk about teaching. 
• Coming home on Sunday nights from working at the mall to the smell of something being grilled. It was always REALLY good!
• The face you'd make when you got excited. 
• The one and only time I saw you drink too much and you ended up sitting on the living room floor propped up against the couch telling jokes for an hour with Eric. 
• The first time you told me you loved me and were proud of me after I left for Drake.
• How you never gave up on me when I didn't do well in college. 
• When you tricked me into thinking the hutch you were making Eric and I for our wedding was really for some friends in Minnesota.
• How you laughed and laughed at the fact that Eric and I bought a snowblower in our last conversation ever.
• How handsome you looked at my wedding. And how it felt to be dancing with my Dad. 

Here are the things I'd like to forget:

• The car in front of us at the moment I got the news was from Nebraska. And it was dark green. 
• It was a beautiful day in the beginning of February and the sun was just beginning to set. 
• The sight of you laying on the emergency room table with a tube still in your throat.
• The feeling of floating and not having the ability to think. 
• How to cry. I'd love to forget how to cry because I'm so tired of doing it. 
• What Mom said to you in the emergency room and how incredibly sad she looked.
• All the times I was a horrible daughter. 
• The exact parking spot we were in when I called Allan. 
• The confusion I felt when you wouldn't wake up. 
• The moment Dave took me into his arms when we first walked into the house from the hospital. 
• How calm the nurse was when she told me to pull over. And the sound of my voice thereafter.
• When Allan's voice finally cracked after I told him. 
• When I woke up crying on Saturday morning and couldn't really remember sleeping.
• Every day after February 6th. Then I could just live in February 5th. And you'd still be alive. 

I miss you dad.

Dear Dad

I can still hear your voice. And your laugh. As I go through the days, I keep remembering little things I didn't before. I am thankful for that, but I'm also afraid that I might forget them. 

My life has divided itself into the Before and After, with your death being the blurry line. Figuring out how to get through the After is getting easier. My breakdowns have gotten further apart with my tears becoming less debilitating. But I still have those moments. Like the other day when I drove past the road that I pulled onto after the nurse told me the news. Or yesterday, when I realized that at that very moment a week ago, I was at your wake. Or today, while I'm typing this, remembering that at this very moment a week ago, I was burying you. 

I am excited to get back to normal - the After normal. I know it's going to be different, but I think I can handle that. You taught me to handle that.