A letter to my father. If only Heaven had a postal service

Dad,

I don’t really know where to start, other than it’s been a whole decade since you left us, ten whole years. And I can tell you that not a day goes where you don’t cross my mind. Some days are filled with happiness, and clinging onto the memories we had in our short time together, and some are filled with the grief, pain and regret I have for not spending more time with you.

There are so many times I wish I could talk to you, knowing there were times I avoided your phone calls.

There are times where I wish I could stop over and just visit, knowing at one point, I’d say I was busy just so I didn’t have to.

There are times where I wish I had more of your art to look at, to appreciate, and to analyze and try to see it through your eyes, knowing that at one point, I thought it was a silly past time and you were just doodling

But the thing is, I can’t. I can’t call, I can’t visit, and I can’t appreciate the things you put your heart and soul into other than a few of your carpentry pieces, your NASCAR models, and your leather jacket.

I have your ashes, and your memory.

It’s years since you left, and over 11 since I last saw you at Meme’s funeral. We sat beside each other, we held hands, and we mourned the loss of someone who had a pivotal role in both our lives. In those moments, we were united as father and daughter, and it finally felt like the pieces were all there. You’d claimed you’d gotten things together and you had a purpose again, and that made me happy. That’s my last memory of you. I promised I’d call, that we’d get together and hang out, and then flash forward 11 months later… still no phone call and no meeting up. Still nothing. I did however get a phone call, one I never expected, and one that brought me to my knees in the middle of a market in Ketchikan, Alaska.

Funny, that even after ten years, I can smell the sea salt, the lush seaweed and the fish that the fisherman brought in with the tide. I can feel the heavy mist on my skin, the same mist that made everything look so gray, but yet so vibrant, and the mist that soaked all of the Pine and fir trees on the borders of the village. I recall how gray/green the backdrop was on our on-shore excursion and I distinctly remember that feeling in my gut when I heard the news of your passing. The shock, disbelief, and sadness hit hard, and fast. It felt like ten thousand pounds dropping from my throat to my stomach, and it literally brought me to my knees, and the tears started falling. The world around me blurred, I felt light-headed, heavy, and everything just started spinning. Those ten thousand pounds of emotion took my breath away, and made me physically sick. The remainder of our trip, I felt lost. I was trying to enjoy myself considering we were thousands of miles away from Maine, and many hundreds of miles off shore, and in a place where the only way to connect to civilization was by a puddle-jumper, and airfare was FAR more than we could afford. But all I could think about was getting home, and it being the longest trip of my life.

I knew hurrying home wouldn’t bring you back, and half of me didn’t even want to go home, I didn’t want it to all be real. Every day, I wish it was all just some horrible dream. But it wasn’t, it’s been a harsh reality for ten years.

I think of how life has changed, and how it could have changed for you too. In a perfect world, you’d have met Brady eventually, walked me down the aisle and given me away to him. We’d have shared a dance at my wedding, that most likely would have been Guns N Roses or Def Leppard, and we both would have hated every second of attention we’d gotten on the dance floor during those 4 minutes. You’d have two of the spunkiest, sassiest little grand-daughters around to keep you on your toes, and make you laugh and reminisce about another little blonde hair, blue eyed girl you knew who may or may not have been a little spunky with a side of sass. You’d have shared some laughs with my Mom, looking back on what might have seemed so hard, but knowing that because of the both of you falling in love and believing in each other, I came to be, and hopefully helped create memories for you that you could only appreciate as grand-parents, and perhaps putting a little innocence back in your life. And we’d have for SURE gotten a number of tattoos together.

But, as you know, life isn’t always perfect. And while, you’d have gotten all those updates, I could only hope that somewhere down the line we’d have reconnected and actually shared those memories.

I will say that over the last ten years, I’ve made a valiant effort to mature as a person (not just age-wise), to never let a moment pass without letting people know how you appreciate them, and how loved they are. I vowed to never let issues go unresolved, and to appreciate life for what it is, the good times and the bad. I know you had some amazing friends and family and you’d never want them to feel unappreciated. I feel like that’s what you’d be telling me to do, to stick out the bad times, because the hardships you face are there only to make you appreciate the triumphs that much better. I know there were lots of hardships in your life and your battle. I see those now, but, ten years ago, I was still a bitter teen, who was going into adulthood with an entirely skewed sense of reality and thought I was nothing like you.

This decade has passed and I’ve quickly realized, I’m not invincible, I’m human. My emotions get the best of me, I don’t like being told I can’t do something, and I’m a lot more headstrong than I lead on. I love classic rock, leather, fishing and creating some art from time to time. In this last decade, I’ve found I’m a lot more like you than I thought. And you know what?? I’ve learned to find light in dark spaces, and despite how dark and heavy the loss of you feels, I think I’ve found out more about myself, and you in these ten years than I would have if you were here.

If there’s one thing I learned from you (other than how to hook a worm, or tip back a Bud-heavy), it was to live your life, accept the bad times (because “shit happens”) and keep pushing towards the good times.

You were so much more than your problems, Dad. You were talented, loving, funny, and threw up either the rocker horns, or middle finger when things got to you. You truly were just an angel with no halo, and one wing in the fire. And I want you to know that even in your death, you’ve taught me so much more in these last ten years than any one.

I live each day for you, and because of you. Forget me not.

“I love you too”