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.