Letters to My Father (12.25.13)



Dear Dad,

Today feels so incomplete without you. There are no words for this kind of sadness. There is absolutely nothing at all. 

Written: 12.25.13 (24 days after my father died) 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

One Golden Memory

I know what it feels like to fly. It feels like being held by your arms and being swung around in circles as we are both getting dizzy and giggling like crazy. It feels like I'm six years old again in the backyard at Grandma's house. Caleb is playing baseball outside with our cousins John, Angel and the twins, Tim and James. My hair is bleached by the sun a bright yellow blonde in messy pigtails and my skin is all tanned. Our fort that we built out of the cardboard boxes that the new couches came in is set up with a sign that says "Home Sweet Home, Wecome" instead of "Home Sweet Home, Welcome." "Again, Howie, again!" I laugh and scream with my arms stretched out towards you. You smile back and grab my arms to swing me in circles more and before I know it my legs are off the ground and I'm flying again. I can tell you love Momma and she loves you back. You are growing on me and I'm growing on you too. I can tell you make Momm...
Read more

After Rain

These muggy summers have me missing the fresh air of springtime. I miss the budding lilies in your resting place where the softest moss grows in place of tragedy. Sometimes I run out there through the twigs leaving snags in my shirts and my hands feeling their way through brush. I know I get small cuts on my knuckles but it's worth it to talk to you. I miss those days when the house would be quiet enough to hear the hum of the geothermal system you managed to experiment with. You would curse under your breath when you found that the basement had flooded (yet again). I would chuckle silently hearing you come up the stairs in a huff. If you were here I'd ask you if it was alright that I had made all these mistakes in your absence. I would ask you what it is I'm supposed to be looking for. I would ask you for help. Mom called this my love letter to my father. I suppose it is, really. I made my peace long ago not to discuss my pain in full detail with people. I neve...
Read more

Fresh Starts

I can breathe again after months of claustrophobic memories ruling my sleep. They're finally gone. I am still me, but I'm different somehow. Wiser, perhaps. Maybe a little more safeguarded. When I let myself be fragile to people who didn't mind hurting me, I had opened myself up for a battle of thorns. I was growing a black rose garden in my chest, but I've somehow managed to paint them back to red again with forgiveness, watering them with acceptance. I'm searching instead for kindness and understanding. I think I've seen it too, in a pair of deep brown eyes. Fresh starts. It's funny how you never see them coming. Written 6.3.17
Read more