A Letter to My Dad
It’s been six months today. 6 months. You taught me so many things, but never how to do this. Living without you is excruciating some days, and bearable on the rest.
To say this house is empty without you is an understatement. I always knew you brought laughter and joy into our lives, but I guess I never realized how much. The house is quiet. It just feels empty. I go into your closet a few times a week and look at your clothes hanging there, and every time I pass by your coat, still hanging on the coat tree in the hallway, I smell it. Your scent lingers.
Simba misses you. He sleeps on your shoes on your side of the closet. He looks for you every time someone walks into the house, just like I do. I forget sometimes that it can’t be you, and think just maybe it is.
Dan fixed your car and drives it to work now. He has a great new job; you’d be proud of him. We were going to trade in your car and get a new one, but neither of us could part with your car. So, we stuck more money than we should have in it, and it gets Dan to Ski Roundtop every day. But, when I see him pull in every night, I still think it’s you coming home from your card game with your pockets filled with money!
The boys are doing great; as always. Holden moved into a new apartment and still loves the PNW. Harrison has an apartment in DC and works full-time for George Washington University. But, he misses his favorite subject. You could say more in one photo than most people do in a year. You were just magnetic like that.
The Twins did well this year, even though they didn’t make it to the World Series. But, guess who did? The Nationals! Harrison even photographed a game. You would be so excited about the World Series, wouldn’t you?
Mom is okay. She doesn’t remember you’re gone, so for her, you’re at the store or at work or playing cards. Sometimes, I wish I lived in her world, because there you still exist, and can come home at any minute.
I can’t describe how much I miss you or how difficult some days are. You were my person from my very first breath. You were just it for me. I was so lucky to have you in my life and I truly do treasure the memories, but I just ache. I feel like I’m aimless right now, with no anchor.
We talk about you all the time. “Dad would love this.” or “Remember when Dad…” I don’t think we get through a day without reminiscing.
I love you, Dad. I just hope I told you enough when you were here. I hope you left this world knowing what a difference you made in our lives, and how we’ll spend the rest of them honoring you and the man you were.