Happy Six-Month Anniversary

Dear Dad,

So much has happened in the past 6 months -- things I would have liked for you to have been here for, things I felt like you were here for, and so much more.

My car has had problems lately, and every time I take it to the shop I think of you. You asking what's wrong with it, where I'm taking it, how much they're charging me.... I asked Mom's husband some questions, and he's really great, but it wasn't the same. I missed your input. I think that the mechanic thought I had lost it when I teared up as she told me I needed repairs. Sure, it was going to be expensive, but really I just wanted my Dad.

School's been rough, too. I've been pretty unmotivated. And all I can think of is what you'd tell me. You'd be a little gruff and tell me just to get to work. Maybe you'd tell me about times you were having trouble getting a proposal going. Maybe you'd tell me that I'd be so happy and have time to relax when the PhD is all over. But mostly I think you'd just tell me to get off my rear and get to it already. Then you'd send me some goofy card to make me feel better about it all, telling me that you just wanted to see me with all of those stripes.

Sometimes I try to imagine how you'd handle me during my grieving if you could be here now. It's one thing I can't wrap my head around. The only part I can be sure of is that you'd give me a big hug. And you'd call to check up on me. And if you didn't get me on the phone you'd leave me some dorky message saying "Tag! You're it!" or "Hello, 443-365-XXXX, this is 334-774-XXXX. Call me." And I'd smile when I got the voice mail. I can't believe I used to delete those. I wish I had just one of those now so I could hear your voice.

I did find the pictures we took in February, the last time I saw you while you were fully conscious. For months, I couldn't find them. They didn't seem to be stored on my camera (the one you gave me last year). But the other day I downloaded pictures to my computer, and there they were. One with me and one with Sheryl (things with she and I are going really well, by the way). I had almost come to terms with not having them, but when they popped onto my screen, I got so excited. Then, of course, I got a bit sad. You looked so rough. You were so thin, and yellow, and hollowed out. But there was a look of serenity on your face, and you were smiling, and I could tell that you meant that smile. And the real kicker was that in the photo, you were comforting me. The guy who had lost over 50 pounds, who couldn't make it down the hall because his feet were so swollen, who had been through so much in the previous three months, and who had only a little more than 2 weeks left to live had his arm around me, comforting me the day before I left to come home. I value that time with you so much.

Dad, mostly what I want to say is that I miss you. I love you. And I'm so proud of you. I can only hope to make you as proud of me. Thanks for being my dad.

Not goodbye, but see you later,

Keri