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