Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

Another year has gone by since you left me. Sure, left the entire world, but I’m feeling particularly victimized today for reasons that have nothing to do with you nor this blog.

It hasn’t gotten easier to deal with all the milestones that you miss as each year passes. It hasn’t gotten easier to watch all of the father-daughter scenes in movies and remember how, no matter what I achieve in life, no matter what I accomplish and take on… I’ll never be able to have those things with you.

You walking me down the aisle.

You lifting my veil over my head (me having to stoop so you can reach).

You dancing with me and telling me how beautiful I look in my wedding gown.

You holding each of my children, and spoiling them rotten as you’re inclined to do.

You giving me advice on all of the things I’ve done, do, and will do without you… each job offer I’ve gotten, considered, and either accepted or rejected.

You walking through the home I’ve bought and any homes I will buy, telling me why it is a good buy or a bad purchase…

Just you.

Being Daddy’s Little Girl, seeking your approval constantly, and knowing I’ll never get it.

Aside to readers: *holds up hand* Don’t you dare tell me, “I am sure your father would be proud of you.” You don’t know that. You don’t know him, you don’t know me and all of my flaws nor what I’ve done – and you most certainly do not know that he would be proud of me. There is no reasonable explanation for you to think you can tell me whether or not my father would be proud of me. So don’t.

I took some major steps this year, and I’m sad that I can’t share them with you. While there are many instances I can guess at how you’d react to many of those things – ha, and with such glowering disapproval! – there are also a few things at which I would love to laugh with you and tell you that you were right all those years ago.

But I can’t.

Your father, who buried two of his sons before we buried him, once told me – when I asked him about burying your brother (and was hurriedly shushed by you and everyone else at the table!) – that it was unnatural for a parent to have to bury their children.

Is it any more natural for a child to have to bury their parent? Any easier?

I suppose I’m feeling particularly bitter today, but I miss you, Dad. I miss your silly vanity, I miss your weird snorts and your odd habits that I can barely remember now. I miss your laugh, I miss the crazy loud sneezes, I miss all of it. I wish you were here, because there is a good part of me that feels if you were… certain things would be so different, so much better,… for all of us.

(Of course, reason tells me that if you were still here, my life would have taken some drastically different turns in the past and I wouldn’t be where I am. I know. Logic. But still…)

I miss you.

Love,
Yvo

14 years later and it still hurts like it was just yesterday.