Its almost June 2016. That means it is almost 2 years since I’ve heard my dad’s voice. Two years since I’ve heard his thinking on the other end of the phone, trying to keep me on the line longer (no matter how big of a hurry I was in.) Two years since I could reach out to him for his advice. And, two years of not feeling his strong hugs, always full of unconditional love. Sometimes thinking about him just gets the better of me. I get lost in thought…we were moving back to Florida and my dad was happy about that — but he was supposed to be here when we got here! Things weren’t supposed to happen the way that they did! Well, at least not in my version of the story.
Moving back, my heart was comforted knowing that I would have my new family in the same place as my parents. We would get to spend time with my mom and dad. Dad was supposed to be a dad to us girls, and a positive influence & role model for my stepson. He was supposed to be there with his simple, corny jokes when we needed to laugh or to listen and advise when the car was making a funny noise. He was going to call us to make sure we were safe at night. And, comfort us in knowing that mom was safe and cared for.
I’ve been pretty silent with my grief, for the most part. Especially as time passes. In a discussion with my partner recently, I voiced how my heart is still not settled on how everything happened two years ago. Questioning whether or not we made the right decision in removing the life support so quickly. The “what-ifs?” play in my head so often that it sometimes causes me to break down.
Do you know what she said after I shared my thoughts? She said that God holds the time card. And if it was his time, it was his time… If it wasn’t? There is no amount of machinery or decisions or doctors that could have changed that. He would have woke up. Boy do I admire her faith. As much as I want to keep saying, “but still… what if?” In all fairness, she is right. Deep down, I do believe that.
At his bedside, I remember my Aunt Karen reading John 14:3 – “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you may also be where I am.” So even though I am questioning all the things that cannot be undone, I can stop questioning where and how my dad is, for we know he is with God. And, ultimately, that is what matters, right?
As we approach June and all of these significant dates – Father’s Day, his birthday, the anniversary of his death – I am going to turn my heart and my eyes to God with prayers for peace and comfort. After all, Matthew 5:4 reminds us that “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Two years later and I am still mourning — I know you see me, God. But, do hear me?
My dad was one of my biggest supporters when it came to my writing and one of the biggest reasons I started this blog. And since he isn’t here to read this when it posts, I’d like to think he is here with me, reading as I write — here’s to you, dad. I miss you more than you could possibly know. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. I hear a song or a situation that reminds me of you. I wish you were here when I don’t understand the many things you were so good at — I mean, if you were here, I know our noisy washing machine wouldn’t overtake all other noise in our house because you would know how to fix it. I miss you for mom’s loss and hurt and all that she is having to learn in her new life on her own. I miss the most honest, perfect, handsome example of a man that you were and still are — only now in my heart. With each day that passes, I hope I make you even a little bit as proud to have been my father, as I am to be your daughter. I love you with all my heart. P.S — mom is doing great, you would be so proud of her! ❤ ❤ ❤