For those of you who don't know, my dad passed away two years ago (11/14/08). I was in the middle of teaching my first semester. He passed away from congestive hear failure. He was only 56 years old. This year it didn't hit me until today. If you have dealt with grief, you understand what that means. I had a dream about him last night which didn't help. So, as my way of coping today, I am going to write him a letter and get it off my chest. I realize this post has nothing to do with craftiness, mommy stories, or cooking but it is for me.
It really sucks! I am 8 months pregnant with my daughter and you aren't here to experience any of it. I thought it would be ok, I thought "Dad wasn't the grandpa type." Well, that is fine and dandy until you have a dream about your dad helping you put a bassinet together for his grand-daughter and see how excited he was. You don't think about it until you think about how this little girl will never know but one grandpa. Who is great, but still, just one. Dad, its not fair! I want you here to give me a hard time. I want you here to pick on me. I want you here so I can call you and tell you all about what is going on so you can tell your dad so he knows because he can't here me on the phone.
Even though you would be 3000 miles away, you could still be a part of Jorja's life. You would still be there to tell me the funny stories about how I hit you with my glass bottle and you told everyone at the office that mom was the one who gave you the black eye.
I know you think it was ok to leave because you knew I married a man who would carry on in your pestering, annoying, funny way. And even though he is filling those those shoes with no problem, he still isn't you. He has too much of Grandpa's sensibleness in him. On most days I appreciate that, but when I am missing you, it doesn't help.
I want to see your face light up when you see Jorja for the first time. I want you to be able to hold her and talk to her. I want you to tell her funny and embarrassing stories about her mommy.
I want to be able to whine to you about how swollen my feet are and how much my back hurts all the while you give me a hard time about it.
I don't know why this couldn't have hit me over the weekend or even Monday. Especially when Eric took me for a ride in the truck. The truck that Grandpa bought brand new, gave to you, that you gave to us. The truck that my husband has worked his heart out on. The truck that you won't get to see restored. The truck that will never mean as much to anyone as it does to me. The truck that my kids won't think much of because they won't get it.
I miss you dad!
I am frustrated and sad and lonely today. I am mad that it is bugging me this much. I am able to be ok at the end of this because I know this was God's plan. I don't even come close to understanding the why of it but I know that God is here with me. He is holding me up when I could just crawl in a ball and give up for a while today. He is reminding me how much he loves me and he is My ABBA Father!