Dear Dad,
Tomorrow will be a month since you're passing. I can't believe it's been a month since you've been gone. It feels like it just happened yesterday and that it can't already be a month, but in the same breath it feels like an eternity since I talked to you since we talked nearly every day. I dread every Friday because I just relive that fateful Friday night in my head every week. It's like having a scab that's trying to heal, but then it's ripped off and starts to bleed again. I know I'll have a scar someday, but I can't get it to stop bleeding.
At your funeral there were old students of yours, old football players you coached too. One stood out from the rest. He was a very large African American man, in his late 40's/ early 50's who said he went back to school to become a lawyer at 43 because of you. You were an inspiration to him and to so many. I always knew you were amazing, but seeing how many people loved you was inspiring. You were called "the life of the party, always smiling, a great football player, a caring teacher, an awesome coach, a wonderful, reliable friend, an amazing husband, and of course, an excellent father." You were great at everything you did. You immersed yourself in life and all the roles you had. I hope I can do that. I want to continue to make you proud.
I've learned that things aren't getting easier, they are getting harder. The pain doesn't go away the week of the funeral. It actually gets worse once the funeral is over. At least when you're planning the funeral your mind is busy. A couple days ago, for some reason, I was thinking about Christmas Eve dinner and I realized you won't be there this year. It literally took my breath away. I started to panic. Sometimes it just feels like you're on vacation. Then it hits me that you are indeed in paradise, but you're not coming back. I'm happy for you, but sad for me. It's selfish, I know, but I am not ashamed to admit it.
I wish I would have saved every note you put in my lunchbox when I was a kid. You made my lunch in the morning before you went to teach English in an IPS high school. I remember sitting at the school lunch table always so excited to see what my notes from you and Mom were going to be for the day. I started to get embarrassed when I got into 5th and 6th grade, but I still loved it. I wish I could have recorded some of our conversations and the reassurance you gave me. You always believed in me, were my biggest cheerleader, and had faith in my abilities. You were forever a teacher, always teaching me about life and myself.
I'm so thankful to my friends and coworkers. I'm grateful for those who check in on me weekly, who've sent cards or flowers, made meals, and just shown genuine concern and love. I've learned quickly who my true friends are. But it's okay because I think deep down I already knew before this all happened. And my real friends know that I love to talk about you. I wish people weren't afraid to ask me how I was doing. I know people are just being polite, and I appreciate it, but I'm okay. I'm not going to cry anytime someone asks me how I am coping. I enjoy talking about you and all you taught me. I want everyone to know about you and to learn about what an awesome dad you were. It's therapeutic for me to talk about you. So if you are a friend and you're reading this, please ask me about my Dad. He was the coolest! And yes, he could have beat up your dad :)
We're in the process of selling our house and I remember when you were with Ike and me taking our picture in front of our "Sold" sign 9 years ago. You were always there, always so involved. I know if you were here you'd be touring all these houses we're looking at. In fact, the other day, without prodding, Addison told Ike, "Pa will be with us when we go look at houses today." Then she asked Ike if Pa could see her and he told her yes. She looked up into the sky and waved and said "Hi Pa!" How sweet is that? When we say our evening prayers, she often tells Jesus she misses Pa. It breaks my heart, but warms it at the same time. Then yesterday, I was having a really hard time and started crying when I was in the kitchen. I was just thinking about how it's been a month and I miss you terribly. Addison came down and saw me crying and she just knew what was wrong. I didn't say anything when I realized she was watching me. She needs to know it's okay to grieve and to cry. She came up to me and in her sweet, quiet little voice said, "It's okay Mommy, Pa's always with you, even though you can't see him. You'll see him again someday." I just felt so calm after that. It's amazing how such a sweet, innocent little voice can bring such peace. I am so grateful that she has such a strong faith at such a young age. She knew just what I needed and she's only 4 years old.
Needless to say, I'm still reeling over your loss. I wonder how it's going to be without you for the rest of my life. I know the Lord will provide comfort for mom and all us girls, but my goodness you are missed. The last text I got from you said, "Keep the faith." It was from that fateful Friday. I will Dad, I will keep the faith. That's all I've got. I don't know how people who don't have faith make it through times like this. I will never delete that text and I will live by those words. I will keep the faith, Dad. I love you.
