Letter to Dad - Year 6
Why is this day so tough?
Beautiful and painful.
Remembering my daddy.
Celebrating his life.
Grieving his absence.
Believing he is in a better place .
And yet... hoping he is somehow right here with us.
Cheering us on along the journey.
A LETTER TO DAD ~ Year 6 ~
Remember how you used to call me “kiddo”?
Today, more than ever, I would love to hear your voice on the phone “Whatcha doin Kiddo?”.
I can hear it in my mind.
I think I still can, anyway.
It’s been 6 years.
How does time just keep marching on?
How have we all gone on in life without you?
Well, I’ll tell ya one thing...
Not without tears.
Missing you has become a part of my life.
Wonderful, amazing, miraculous moments have happened since you’ve been gone.
And in every last one of them?
There is a tinge of sadness.
A hint of something/someone missing.
A split second thought...
Dang, I wish Dad could see this.
Dad would have loved this.
Orvie tears would be being shed.
Oh man, Dad... I have become an Orvie tear shedder.
At Kessa and Liv’s dance recital.
Dear God in Heaven... I had a moment.
Tears streaming, pass the Kleenex, kind of moment.
I get it now.
The proud grandparent thing?
I.am.you.
I can’t get enough.
I tell them not to leave.
Alyssa says “Ok Grandpa Orvie”.
I smile.
Yep.
I get it now.
Thinking about all of this yesterday, I remembered just how much you loved spending time with us.
You never talked about getting a bigger house, fancy clothes, or a nicer car.
You simply wanted to hang out with us.
Thanks for that, Dad.
Oh, I got a job at Snider. Teacher’s assistant.
Guess what I do all day?
Math!
All.dang.day.
You know what?
I think I’m good at it.
Hanging in there at least.
Dad, there are kids in there that don’t do their work because they can’t see the board.
I remember how you told me that your teachers didn’t know you were hard of hearing.
It’s so easy to get lost in the cracks.
To not be seen.
I think that is gonna be part of my mission, Dad.
One who sees these kids.
And helps them to know their worth, and to see the board.
I think you would be proud me.
Right now, you have so much to be proud of in your family.
Your grandkids are growing up.
Having kids of their own, running businesses, playing sports, marching in bands, dancing, singing, telling jokes, living this life the best they know how.
With a little piece of you in each of them.
Mom’s good.
Still say “I miss my Orvie”.
Still also says “Nothing but good memories”.
And... she is still pushing food on anyone who walks through our front door... cookies, candy, part of her sandwich.
She is still listening to her hymns... and every time the one comes on about “strolling over Heaven with you some sweet day”, she says she misses you and can’t wait to be there with you.
Makes me tear up just thinking about it.
You know what?
You two made such a great team.
Team Orv and Punk.
We all knew it.
Everyone knew we could count on you two.
Loving, caring, and fun.
A pot of soup on the stove.
Coffee brewing.
And some sort of Punkie Snack on the table.
Oh, and a candle lit.
Always a candle.
Ok... remember the time Mom sent you to pick up doughnuts from Chief?
She specifically told you NOT to get the “day old” ones.
Haha.
I can see it in my mind like it was just yesterday.
You brought the groceries in, sat them on the kitchen table, and proceeded to your chair in the living room.
I was on the couch, asking you why you sat there with that silly smirk on your face.
Wait for it.
Wait for it.
Here it comes...
“GET IN HERE YOU A-HOLE!”
What??????
(I was a senior in high school and had never heard Mom cuss).
You laughed.
I laughed.
Mom did not laugh.
Why Dad?
Why did you buy the day old ones?
I think I’m glad you did.
Nothing but good memories, right?
I love you so much.
I miss you so much.
Maybe we should drive to D-town and buy some doughnuts to celebrate your life today?
No time for that.
Drew is having a house full of college students over tonight.
And I will have the candles lit.
Thanks for loving us and teaching us to love, Dad.
Beautiful and painful.
Remembering my daddy.
Celebrating his life.
Grieving his absence.
Believing he is in a better place .
And yet... hoping he is somehow right here with us.
Cheering us on along the journey.
A LETTER TO DAD ~ Year 6 ~
Remember how you used to call me “kiddo”?
Today, more than ever, I would love to hear your voice on the phone “Whatcha doin Kiddo?”.
I can hear it in my mind.
I think I still can, anyway.
It’s been 6 years.
How does time just keep marching on?
How have we all gone on in life without you?
Well, I’ll tell ya one thing...
Not without tears.
Missing you has become a part of my life.
Wonderful, amazing, miraculous moments have happened since you’ve been gone.
And in every last one of them?
There is a tinge of sadness.
A hint of something/someone missing.
A split second thought...
Dang, I wish Dad could see this.
Dad would have loved this.
Orvie tears would be being shed.
Oh man, Dad... I have become an Orvie tear shedder.
At Kessa and Liv’s dance recital.
Dear God in Heaven... I had a moment.
Tears streaming, pass the Kleenex, kind of moment.
I get it now.
The proud grandparent thing?
I.am.you.
I can’t get enough.
I tell them not to leave.
Alyssa says “Ok Grandpa Orvie”.
I smile.
Yep.
I get it now.
Thinking about all of this yesterday, I remembered just how much you loved spending time with us.
You never talked about getting a bigger house, fancy clothes, or a nicer car.
You simply wanted to hang out with us.
Thanks for that, Dad.
Oh, I got a job at Snider. Teacher’s assistant.
Guess what I do all day?
Math!
All.dang.day.
You know what?
I think I’m good at it.
Hanging in there at least.
Dad, there are kids in there that don’t do their work because they can’t see the board.
I remember how you told me that your teachers didn’t know you were hard of hearing.
It’s so easy to get lost in the cracks.
To not be seen.
I think that is gonna be part of my mission, Dad.
One who sees these kids.
And helps them to know their worth, and to see the board.
I think you would be proud me.
Right now, you have so much to be proud of in your family.
Your grandkids are growing up.
Having kids of their own, running businesses, playing sports, marching in bands, dancing, singing, telling jokes, living this life the best they know how.
With a little piece of you in each of them.
Mom’s good.
Still say “I miss my Orvie”.
Still also says “Nothing but good memories”.
And... she is still pushing food on anyone who walks through our front door... cookies, candy, part of her sandwich.
She is still listening to her hymns... and every time the one comes on about “strolling over Heaven with you some sweet day”, she says she misses you and can’t wait to be there with you.
Makes me tear up just thinking about it.
You know what?
You two made such a great team.
Team Orv and Punk.
We all knew it.
Everyone knew we could count on you two.
Loving, caring, and fun.
A pot of soup on the stove.
Coffee brewing.
And some sort of Punkie Snack on the table.
Oh, and a candle lit.
Always a candle.
Ok... remember the time Mom sent you to pick up doughnuts from Chief?
She specifically told you NOT to get the “day old” ones.
Haha.
I can see it in my mind like it was just yesterday.
You brought the groceries in, sat them on the kitchen table, and proceeded to your chair in the living room.
I was on the couch, asking you why you sat there with that silly smirk on your face.
Wait for it.
Wait for it.
Here it comes...
“GET IN HERE YOU A-HOLE!”
What??????
(I was a senior in high school and had never heard Mom cuss).
You laughed.
I laughed.
Mom did not laugh.
Why Dad?
Why did you buy the day old ones?
I think I’m glad you did.
Nothing but good memories, right?
I love you so much.
I miss you so much.
Maybe we should drive to D-town and buy some doughnuts to celebrate your life today?
No time for that.
Drew is having a house full of college students over tonight.
And I will have the candles lit.
Thanks for loving us and teaching us to love, Dad.
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