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.