Letter To Dad ~ Year 7
Dad,
Here's the thing... seven years without you and I still miss you something terrible. I still can hear your voice and see your silly grin.
What I keep thinking about these days is how much I want your legacy to live on... through me and through all of us. And in some crazy kind of way? I think it kind of is.
Let me tell you why...
Little Livia (side note, I so wish you could have known you) gave me a homemade card on the first day of our family vacation last month. You know what it said? "Grandma, I love you very much and can't wait to dance for you this week!" I know right??? It sounds like something one of your kids/grandkids would have written to you. I'm growing up to be like my daddy. Tears of joy flow freely when I watch our little ladies dance for me.
The tears come more now... and I don't mind. The joy of seeing our Alayna walk down the aisle to marry Jake (another side note - I wish he would have known you). Watching Sawyer perform in The Ohio State Marching Band... chills and tears, Dad. I know, I know... it's not the team up North, but man, you would be so proud of him, and I'm pretty sure you would be at every game you could get to. Your grandkids are adults and they are living all over the United States, and I believe with all my heart that you would be making your rounds to see them all. You loved each and every one of us so well. And with four grandbabies of my own, I see just how that can happen.
We live in such a stressful world now, Dad. Anxiety is rampant. Things can feel like they are out of control. Tensions are high. And I know you know how I can feel defeated and deflated. You remember me staying with you and Mom so you two could help take care of my babies as I struggle to pull myself up off your couch and out of depression? You didn't say much. You just loved my kids and video taped them as they sang and danced for you. You took me to my appointments and never judged me for my fears. I remember you sitting with me in the ER during one of my panic spells. I was scared I was having a heart attack. You just kept making me giggle, somehow reminding me that I was gonna be ok. Everything was going to be alright.
The last 2 years of your life... the tables turned. I was now the one in the driver's seat. Taking you to appointment after appointment. It wasn't easy. Dementia was kicking in and most of the time you had no idea where we were and why were there. You did not forget, however, how to flirt with the nurses. You also did not miss a beat on making me giggle in the doctor's office. Not gonna lie, you were kind of a brat. And I pretty much loved it. You always wanted me to get my blood drawn on your behalf so that your numbers would be in the normal range. "Nope Dad... it doesn't work like that." Your rolling veins made it hard for you to get your dang blood drawn. I would cringe as they would poke your over and over. But somehow? You never lost your sense of humor in it.
"You can't hurt steel!" was your favorite thing to say. You were so tough, Dad. Tough on the outside, but you were also so very soft on the inside. A big old teddy bear.
Can you somehow teach that to me, Dad? Honestly, I guess we can say your whole life was one big lesson on how to do this. Your journey on this earth was filled with some real tough times, but man Dad, they did not define you.
I'm asking God to help me see the good in this life.
Enjoy the little things.
Rest in today.
Live in the moment.
Look for the best in people.
You know I can tend to focus on the negative and worry about the future.
But here I am today. I'm almost 50, Dad. I know right? And I'm learning more and more how to cherish each day... like my daddy.
Oh, one more thing... I thought of this the other day. I remembered how we would go to the skating rink for a church get together. You would take me out in the middle of the floor and we would hold hands. We would start going round and round until my feet would go off the floor and I would be flying in circles. You did it with me when we squared dance too. Little Karen safe in her daddy's arms... and yet somehow? Flying. It was the best feeling.
Listen, Dad.
Thank you.
For loving me, for protecting me, for making me giggle, and for helping me fly.
I love you today more than ever.
I know you are here with us... even in us.
Seven years later, your love lives on.
Here's the thing... seven years without you and I still miss you something terrible. I still can hear your voice and see your silly grin.
What I keep thinking about these days is how much I want your legacy to live on... through me and through all of us. And in some crazy kind of way? I think it kind of is.
Let me tell you why...
Little Livia (side note, I so wish you could have known you) gave me a homemade card on the first day of our family vacation last month. You know what it said? "Grandma, I love you very much and can't wait to dance for you this week!" I know right??? It sounds like something one of your kids/grandkids would have written to you. I'm growing up to be like my daddy. Tears of joy flow freely when I watch our little ladies dance for me.
The tears come more now... and I don't mind. The joy of seeing our Alayna walk down the aisle to marry Jake (another side note - I wish he would have known you). Watching Sawyer perform in The Ohio State Marching Band... chills and tears, Dad. I know, I know... it's not the team up North, but man, you would be so proud of him, and I'm pretty sure you would be at every game you could get to. Your grandkids are adults and they are living all over the United States, and I believe with all my heart that you would be making your rounds to see them all. You loved each and every one of us so well. And with four grandbabies of my own, I see just how that can happen.
We live in such a stressful world now, Dad. Anxiety is rampant. Things can feel like they are out of control. Tensions are high. And I know you know how I can feel defeated and deflated. You remember me staying with you and Mom so you two could help take care of my babies as I struggle to pull myself up off your couch and out of depression? You didn't say much. You just loved my kids and video taped them as they sang and danced for you. You took me to my appointments and never judged me for my fears. I remember you sitting with me in the ER during one of my panic spells. I was scared I was having a heart attack. You just kept making me giggle, somehow reminding me that I was gonna be ok. Everything was going to be alright.
The last 2 years of your life... the tables turned. I was now the one in the driver's seat. Taking you to appointment after appointment. It wasn't easy. Dementia was kicking in and most of the time you had no idea where we were and why were there. You did not forget, however, how to flirt with the nurses. You also did not miss a beat on making me giggle in the doctor's office. Not gonna lie, you were kind of a brat. And I pretty much loved it. You always wanted me to get my blood drawn on your behalf so that your numbers would be in the normal range. "Nope Dad... it doesn't work like that." Your rolling veins made it hard for you to get your dang blood drawn. I would cringe as they would poke your over and over. But somehow? You never lost your sense of humor in it.
"You can't hurt steel!" was your favorite thing to say. You were so tough, Dad. Tough on the outside, but you were also so very soft on the inside. A big old teddy bear.
Can you somehow teach that to me, Dad? Honestly, I guess we can say your whole life was one big lesson on how to do this. Your journey on this earth was filled with some real tough times, but man Dad, they did not define you.
I'm asking God to help me see the good in this life.
Enjoy the little things.
Rest in today.
Live in the moment.
Look for the best in people.
You know I can tend to focus on the negative and worry about the future.
But here I am today. I'm almost 50, Dad. I know right? And I'm learning more and more how to cherish each day... like my daddy.
Oh, one more thing... I thought of this the other day. I remembered how we would go to the skating rink for a church get together. You would take me out in the middle of the floor and we would hold hands. We would start going round and round until my feet would go off the floor and I would be flying in circles. You did it with me when we squared dance too. Little Karen safe in her daddy's arms... and yet somehow? Flying. It was the best feeling.
Listen, Dad.
Thank you.
For loving me, for protecting me, for making me giggle, and for helping me fly.
I love you today more than ever.
I know you are here with us... even in us.
Seven years later, your love lives on.
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