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.