The last month I’ve stared off into space more than I ever have in my entire life. I can’t seem to process the fact that my dad is truly gone. How do you accept something that still feels so wrong and impossible?
I have spent the whole month trying to explain it to myself and I still feel just as confused as the moment my mom called me on the phone and told me he had passed away.
A man who has always been such a comfort to me and my very stability growing up is gone and I don’t know how to move on from this point. I’m broken without him.
My dad got me. Not many people truly get or understand me. I hate that I will never be able to look across a table at him and have him be able to read my exact thoughts. I’ll miss our quiet jokes that only he and I could pick up on. I hate that I’ll never hear him call me “Issa Moany” again. I hate that my son will never know the love he had for him. The fact that I will never see him smile that big welcoming grin, whenever I saw him, breaks my heart in two. He’ll never dance his carefree dance and I’ll never hear him jamming to his music as he makes his lunch again. I hate that I’ll never have another cup of coffee with him at the Ranch or play another game of mexican train. I can’t ever imitate his silly gestures or mannerisms again. I’ll never see him gloat when he placed the last puzzle piece in a puzzle again. He’ll never clean his fish tank again or play his video games with my brother. He’ll never take me target practicing again. He’ll never pray for me again. We’ll never have another father/daughter date to dinner and a movie. I’ll never see him tear up when he says goodbye to me again. It’s EVERYTHING that I’m going to miss!
I hate it.
I just want my dad back.
I pray a day comes when it doesn’t hurt as badly as it does now, and I know that day will come, but I also know that my life will never feel complete again.
My dad loved my family more than anything in the world! He saw us as his biggest blessing and he knew that only God could receive the glory for it. He always put us first and our needs never went unmet. He worked so hard to give us the upbringing we had and he always kept God in the center of everything he did. His love for Jesus shone out of him in every big and small task he completed. If there was ever a person that lived as a christian should it was him. He loved and those are the biggest commandments.
“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ This is the first commandment. And the second, like it, is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”
(Mark 12:30-31)
One of the things I regret most is waiting to soak in all his knowledge. I always thought I’d have so many years to learn from him and I feel completely robbed of time. He knew so much about EVERYTHING. He was handy with his hands, he knew so much about the Ranch in Wyoming, and most importantly he was who I went to whenever I had a question about my faith. I’ll never be able to call him to ask a quick question again. Still doesn’t seem possible. He was always just a phone call away. He always called me on his parts runs at work and those 10 minute conversations made my whole day. I’m so thankful that I saved the voice-mails he left me because the sound of his voice is now the only thing I have left of him. I have listened to them over and over and they never fail to turn me into a bawling puddle on the floor. I miss him terribly.
My mom gifted his Bible to me. His Bible was his prized possession. It’s filled with notes and highlights showing what stood out to him. I love having it. I feel so close to him as I read from it’s pages. I can just picture him studying it for hours and falling further and further in love with our Lord. I cried when she gave it to me because I knew how very important it was to him, because God made him into the man he was through reading it. It would bless him to know how much I treasure it.
I don’t think you ever feel ready to say goodbye but this goodbye just seems far too early. I keep going back to the fact that I had talked to him an hour before he died and he sounded just like himself, perfectly healthy and happy. My brain can’t wrap itself around it.
One of the last things he said to me was, “I like to pretend that I’ll see you guys soon, it helps me feel less sad.” Now I have to pretend that very same thing about him.
I’ll see you soon Daddy, but it won’t seem soon enough.
The Dear Adventure 