Today marks 8 years since I lost my Dad, and I hate it.
I hate everything about it.
I hate looking at the landscape of our lives and not seeing him there. I see his fingerprints all over the place, but those joyful eyes behind the paint speckled glasses? They’re nowhere to be found.
Somedays I can’t believe he’s gone and others I struggle to remember what it was like to have a Dad at all, a Dad to call with tears or mortgage questions.
I tell the kids about him sometimes, but mostly they’re too young to understand. I tell Caedmon that he has his Grandpa’s middle name and I tell Noelle that she has a nose just like her Grandma’s.
I tell them: “I had a mommy and daddy too and they’re in heaven with Jesus and they love us all very much.”
Some people may see 8 years of grieving my Father and think: “Wow, she’s still not over it?” To those people I say this: “When you lose a parent, you’re never truly over it, there is always a unfilled gap, which is okay.”
And somedays that void takes the form of a lump in my throat, sometimes it causes my eyes to tear up because I just want my Daddy. Somedays don’t we all? And on those days when I need my Dad but can’t have him I ache on a cellular level.
I want to revert back to calling his cell phone and listening to his voice mail message over and over again.
“His this is Dave, please leave a message.”
I stil remember the inflection of every word.
Somehow, shortly after he died it was put upon me to design and purchase my Dad’s headstone. I knew nothing about headstones, all I knew is that I wanted it to look as little like a headstone as possible. Nothing grey, no block letters, I just couldn’t go there. Continue reading