Letters to Dad (7/23/24)

Hey Dad,

I haven’t written to you in a while. You are on my mind every day, but sometimes it’s so hard to think about you not being here that I try to block it out and pretend it didn’t happen. Even if only for a few minutes.

I realize grief comes in waves, hell, I wrote a whole piece on waves of grief. Even still, I am hit like a ton of bricks at the sound of song that merely reminds me of you.

Today I was in the living room working on folding somewhere around 74 loads of laundry I have been putting off. Lucy and I were watching this show called The Bear. I love watching things with her and spending time…it’s sobering to now be so hyper-aware of the time we have with each other. I know she will be gone off to college soon and I’m already feeling a tightness in my chest just thinking about not getting to see her every day.

Anyway, we are watching this series – that is far from sad or even anything about dads and daughters or cancer, etc. and a song comes on. “Help me Rhonda” by the Beach Boys. Sounds a little silly now, and even though the song isn’t about anything sentimental and even though it’s not tied to some significant event or memory with you – the Beach Boys, in general, remind me of you. It reminds me of being in the car with you driving and singing along to the radio and always being your genuinely happy self. I think what it really reminds me of is how I felt when I was around you.

Loved. Safe. Not a single doubt in my mind that you were proud of me.

So, I am sitting on the couch, and two second earlier I am laughing at something on the show and then…BAM, hot tears are falling down my face. What in the actual….? I’m sure it doesn’t help that I am fast approaching that time of the month when emotions run high—but it still tends to make me feel out of control. (Not that I am implying I often feel in control, but you know what I mean.)

I have a picture of you and Lucy on my fireplace mantel. Some days I look at it and smile; somedays I am almost tempted to turn it around for a bit because it hurts too bad. That probably sounds awful, and I never actually turn it around, but I wish I could turn around from the pain and loss.

I’m sure you see me being “slightly” snarky about almost anyone I see on TV who is older than you were when you left us. I know that is ridiculous, but I’m even angry at Sleepy Joe and Orange Face for having the privilege of hanging around so long.

I don’t want you to think I am sad all the time. I believe you are able to see some things from there and therefore I am hopeful you see all the laughter and love still happening every day.

But…there always seem to be things coming at all angles that make me feel such a pit in my stomach that you will not get to experience with us. School is about to start – no back-to-school pictures for you to share at work… A big one for me is that William has decided to try football this year and you won’t get to be in the stands. He had weightlifting 3 times a week, bright and early, this summer. I imagine you would have wanted to take him some or pick him up and ask him all about it.

Do you know how disappointed it makes me feel that for all the years you supported him playing soccer – a sport you really didn’t know anything about – and now that he is finally playing a sport that you played into college….you don’t get to see it?? Well, hopefully you will see it in whatever way that works, but you know what I mean. There won’t be those times you and I would have spent together, in the stands, either sweating or drinking hot chocolate and cheering him on. There will never be those times and it feels like a gut punch.

I also think when it comes to things like you missing William play football, it’s equally as much about me being sad that you aren’t here as it is that I am crushed that you don’t get to experience something I know you would have LOVED. You deserved the world; why didn’t you get the seemingly simple pleasure of watching your grandson play a sport you yourself loved?

I am well-aware the answers don’t exist this side of Heaven. I have to also remind myself that it wouldn’t really make a difference anyway, to know the answers, if it doesn’t change the outcome of your absence.

Dad, I’m trying. I know some days may not look that way, but I believe you see me the way you always did. I believe that you believe in me…and that keeps me going.

I’m trying to do as you would do and help people (and of course animals) in need, often and with a servant’s heart. Every time I donate to someone or something…I feel your presence. It’s because of you that I can help more people and animals and I feel you coming through me each and every time the thought of helping pops into my mind. It’s almost like I feel you smiling (and also reminding me that I can’t save every dog and to keep a little money tucked away, haha). I know that giving won’t bring you back, but it is my hope that it will bring me closer to being the kind of person you always were.

Thanks for always being my hero. I’ll keep on keeping-on and doing my best to keep it together.

Kiss James for me, please!

Love,

Your ‘Lil-dahling, Amanda