Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Dear Father: Two Lessons From You on Your Birthday

Well, here we are, Father. Another birthday and you're not here. Again. Another year without you in our lives. Another year of wondering what the heck happened and wondering where you are. Another year of...just missing you.

You would have been 65 today. How on earth did that happen? I often wonder what you would have been like now. The same? More grey hair? A little hunched over?

While you probably would have looked older, I highly doubt your soul would have aged one bit. Some people have an old soul. Not you. You were a young soul. You had this refreshing (sometimes bordering on annoying...LOL) sense of optimism about life. About everything, really. The world was your playground and you intended to enjoy every minute.

I really miss that about you. I know I say this a lot, but I don't want to forget you, and I'm so worried that I will. The longer time goes on, the farther away from you I feel. That gap is getting too wide and sometimes it feels like you keep disappearing more and more.

But I've been thinking about ways to keep you with me and I got to thinking about a few of the life lessons you taught me. In fact, there were two phrases you were VERY fond of saying while I was growing up. And even though I may have rolled my eyes at them back then, they're coming to mean more to me the older I get.

The two I remember the most...

"Measure twice, cut once": I'm assuming your inner engineer/gadget guru lived by this notion. You were pretty methodical. I used to love to watch you work in your shop because I could practically see the wheels turning in your head. You liked to think things through and make plans and draw schematics. You needed to be absolutely sure of what you were doing.

"Never leave a stone unturned": This was your favorite phrase to use when I'd come to you in a panic over missplacing my diary yet again. It was sort of desperation that is typical of teenage girls, but you never seemed annoyed or bothered by my pleas for help. Instead, you'd use your methodical powers to help me comb every nook and cranny of the house. I'd get impatient, but you didn't let me give up. Under the bed. Behind the couch. Tucked in kitchen drawers. We looked everywhere and always found it. I was ecstatic, until a couple weeks later when I'd inevitably lose it again. But you never minded repeating the process again.
Now, I have to wonder: Was that your plan all along? Did you know that these lessons would mean a great deal to me later in life? Sneaky.

Happy birthday, Father. I love you and miss you every single day! xoxo


  1. Such a sweet post. I'm sorry for your loss.

  2. Such a sweet post. I'm sorry for your loss.


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