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