Dear Dad

You have been gone four months today. I have graduated college since then. I have lost thirteen pounds. I have kissed three boys. That scar I got the night I tried to jump the fence isn’t going anywhere. I have been talking to God again.

George Eliot said “Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.”

I love that. Because I think about you all the time.

You are still the voice I hear when I get very scared or sad. I hear you saying over and over to me “It’s going to be okay.” I feel your eyes looking into mine with all the love that exists on  earth. We are on the bathroom floor. You are holding my face that is still cold from being pressed into the tile. I feel numb. I feel wretched. I hate myself. I want to die. I say those things outloud and you look weary. You shake your head. You hold my face. You look with those eyes and you promise it will get better. You say it so assuredly I believe you.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me?” I ask you.

You nod. Ironically, I feel a sense of relief. I feel as if this means I’m not due heartache for some time.

Four months feels like a big deal because four months after that day on the bathroom floor you got diagnosed with cancer. And less then four months later you died. And four months from then I am all better just thirteen pounds lighter and three kisses later and you are in the ground.

And I’m so mad about it. And I miss you all the time.

I’m so messy. Like always, you know. But more than usual. I didn’t want to lose you. I wasn’t prepared. It’s been eating away at me. Even though all these good, beautiful, exciting things are happening, part of me aches because I still know you aren’t here.

Thanks for telling me so many stories. Thanks for teaching me all the good things.

But damnit Papa. I just miss you. I want you to roll your eyes at me for making decisions I know are foolish. I want you to convince me to eat ribs with you at midinight while watching The Sound of Music. I want you to correct my syntax and cover my papers with red ink. I want you to be around so badly.

But I’ll keep being thankful. I’ll look for the good. I’ll try my best.



2 thoughts on “Dear Dad

    • Lan! That’s so nice. Especially because I felt really self-conscious publishing it because I keep talking about death. I love you and owe you a facetime and that photo of you and Asher is my background to my whole life currently.

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