Daddy,
It’s been 6 months without you, daddy. It's surreal to think it's been half a year since you left us. These six months have been a journey of emotions, a rollercoaster ride through grief and acceptance, longing and adaptation.
For six months, I have been learning to do life without the piece of me that died with you. And for those same six months, I have been discovering how to connect with the pieces of you that stayed after you passed. With each day that passes, I have been navigating a symphony of memories and echoes of your presence.
Grief is not a linear path but a winding road with unexpected twists and turns. It’s been a process I never wanted to go through. One I always feared going through. Some days, the pain feels as fresh as if it happened yesterday, while other days, it's softened by the warmth of cherished memories and the love that continues to fill my life. Each day, I'm reminded of your absence in countless small ways, from the pin you gave me to the phone call I can no longer make. There have been moments of overwhelming sadness, yes, but also moments of quiet acceptance and even happiness as I remember the love and laughter we shared. No matter the emotion, I have felt joy through it all. Somehow it is well with my soul.
Somehow I found the strength to stand and speak at your funeral. Can you imagine? Some of my words were borrowed from a collection of letters I'd been writing you last year —words I had wanted to share but never did. I started this blog (finally) and at some point will share pieces of them in things I write here. In the weeks leading up to your passing, I realized their expression wasn't necessary; you already knew their contents and how loved you were.
I've also discovered something remarkable: our relationship didn't end with your death. People have always said how I am Mama’s twin, you saw it too, but the inside of me is so much you. You gave me your heart. I wonder if you noticed it. In these six months, I've felt the pieces you instilled in me come alive and flourish, guiding and comforting me in moments of doubt. Sometimes I can even hear your voice play in my head and the encouragement you would give to nudge me forward. And though I'll always miss the sound of your voice and the comfort of your presence, I have found peace in knowing that our bond transcends the boundaries of time and space.
My pick of the song for the post is one that every word is true for me when it comes to you. I didn’t hear it until after you passed, so I also included what one of your picks would be underneath. Like you, I have an elephant brain and remember everything, and one memory I recall is of this song. It was a Saturday and after you first heard it on the radio, you came through the back door grinning as you told Mama and me about it saying it was what some boy one day would say about me. Mama didn't like the sound of it, but I was intrigued. Now, anytime I hear it, I hear your laugh. I looked it up and it was 1994 when it came out. A few years later you came through that back door again with the same excitement after first hearing Butterfly Kisses and wanted me to hear it. This time your excitement was more sentimental and special as you said it was a song you could have written for me and maybe we would dance to it one day at my wedding. I'm sorry that we didn't, it truly has been overused for that and my memory of it with you is even better. I will never forget the joy across your face when we finally heard those songs come on over the radio in your truck - you hated how loud I listened to my music, but you turned up the volume for both of those anytime they came on. I wish I was riding shotgun with you now and sharing with you all the songs I have put on a "Daddy" playlist. E and I enjoy listening to songs that remind us of you and we both smile at every thought of you. Emerson is doing well, he stayed at his dad's last night and they stopped by the house this morning before school to pick something up. He came in my room so sweet and gently crawled into bed next to me. Ironically, the first thing he said to me was "I really miss your daddy, I miss my Papa." We hadn't talked about what today was or I don't recall mentioning you to him over the last few days. It's amazing how children have this "know" that adults seem to lose. Maybe that has something to do with why Jesus said "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Maybe children know how to hear His voice better than we do. I am remembering now that time when I picked him up from school a few years ago and he was so distraught over you falling off a tractor and saying you got hurt. He had mentioned it to his teacher too and we assumed he had dreamed it during naptime. To calm him, I picked up the phone to call Mama and prove that it was just a dream, yet, on the other end as I told Mama what Emerson said she got quiet and asked who had called us, she had "that voice" she gets when she is serious. I repeated what had happened and then she proceeded to tell us that you had fallen off the tractor that morning, but you were fine and didn't get injured. It's incredible really.
It was a Friday morning when you left this earth and it is Friday morning now. And no matter what any (Fri)day brings, I know Sunday is always coming. Keep enjoying those green pastures. I miss you, Daddy, I miss you every day.
I know you can't read this or hear my thoughts. I know this world no longer occupies your mind, but if somehow I could write to you, this is what I would tell you.
You’re my hero and everything I want to be…
