To put it in perspective...Ray and I still lived in an apartment in Richmond. Zeke was only 4 months old. I worked in-home - and had just started in Fredericksburg. Ray and I had just purchased a house but did not live there. Amanda wasn't married yet. Eric and Chelsea were still in college. Isla hadn't even been conceived....for that matter, Ellie hadn't been conceived. The list goes on and on...
I try not to have regrets. I try to live life that way...to put things in perspective. To know that life happens, and I can't change the past. But when it comes to my dad, I have a major regret. I was supposed to go home for Easter that year...Ray was working, so it would be a long-weekend road trip flying solo...and of course by flying, I mean driving. I was burnt out, exhausted, and stressed, and was worried about making that drive by myself. I was still struggling health-wise, and knew that it hurt my body to drive that long. And I made the decision to not go, for my own sake.
And I regret it. If only I had known that would be the last time I saw my dad. The last time I hugged him or hung out with him or saw him face to face. The last time I sang karaoke (most likely) with him, played poker or had a drink. The last time I said a real good-bye. It kills me sometimes. I know I can't change it. And I know there's the..."there's no way you could have known". And I didn't. I couldn't. But I do remember feeling bad I wasn't going. Feeling guilty, and trying to remind myself that sometimes I had to take care of me and my health. But I wish I could have had one more day. One more memory. One more chance to hug and kiss him and tell him good-bye.
I wish that anyway. I wish it hadn't been so sudden, such a slap in the face. I am glad I didn't have to watch him suffer, and that he didn't endure a long battle with illness or pain. But I'm envious of those who get to tell their loved ones good-bye. Those who have closure. I think I was robbed of that.
Dad, we have a daughter. Sometimes I think she's got just a little of your personality, and a few of your goofy expressions. She's going to learn all about you one day. I can't stand that I don't get to share her with you. I can't stand that you aren't here to visit, to kiss her face and give her hugs and play with your first granddaughter. I hate it with every beat of my heart. Dad, we bought a house. And I'm sitting for my counseling license finally.
Dad, Chelsea's getting married. To a man named Brian, no less, with a brother named Brent. He's sweet to Chelsea, and he treats her well. You'd be proud.
Dad, Eric moved to Chicago. He's doing really well there. Wants to go on in college, too. Can you believe it? For now, plans are in the works for him to really move up in his job. You'd be so proud.
Dad, I miss you. Sometimes I feel you around. Is that strange? I sometimes wonder about dimensions and heaven and angels...but I feel you sometimes. Not as often as I used to. Or as often as I would like. And I'm starting to have trouble remembering your voice, your laugh. I'm losing it. What a horrible feeling.
You know, I still remember that day, three years ago. With so much of my life being a blur, and with all of the numbness tied to that day, one would think that day would be a blur as well. Heck, I would think that. And I expect it to be whenever I think about it. But for some stupid reason, I remember every detail. I remember the night before, going to a wedding with Ray and turning my ringer off and staying out until 4 in the morning. We had a blast. I remember waking up to Ray's phone ringing, and smacking him to answer it or turn it off. I remember Ray sitting straight up in bed as my groggy mind tried to come out of a deep sleep, and hearing him saying "no...", and eventually handing me the phone. I remember trying to wrap my still half-asleep mind around what my mom was telling me. Trying to fight every instinct to throw the phone, wanting to crawl back under the covers and go back to sleep. I remember the guilt that we had missed multiple calls from my mom, as though her somehow getting ahold of us would have made a difference, and as I felt bad I couldn't be "there" with her as she went through it all. I remember the exact feeling I had as I began to comprehend what my mom was telling me, and as I asked questions to try to make sense of it all. I remember Ray just holding me as he handed me the phone and as I felt my world fall apart. I remember Ray's mom and Amanda coming down and trying to keep my mind off of things. I remember making phone calls and I remember the numb feelings of being in my own bubble...that feeling that is so often recreated on television when the person starts to dissociate and can here everything happening around them, swirling around them, as though one were under water. Once the extreme emotions were gone, the numbness set it...one I've never experienced before or after. One that really doesn't care if life goes on or not, but just sits in waiting, indifferent, just there, moving one step in front of the other, as though on autopilot.
Today, here's to you, dad. Here's raising a glass to you and your antics, to your love for people, and your karaoke fun. Here's to you coaching (and playing) softball, coming to our games and productions and activities, building houses, and starting your own business. Here's you getting your MBA while working full time and raising a family. Here's to your bushwhackers and your margaritas, your boat, your plane, and your Jimmy Buffet. Here's to your Bob Seger, your WKXA, and your eventual love for country. Here's to your breakfasts of Mt. Dew and cookies, your ability to dip buckeyes, to sharing egg nog and cherry filled chocolates, and your 'Twas the Night Before Christmas traditions. Here's to your temper and your sense of humor, your wit and your personable, outgoing personality. Here's to your involvement in school, in family, and in life. Here's to your determination and your strong-willed mind. Here's to both your artistic and your mathematical ability. Here's to your surprises and your affection. Here's to your drive, your goals, your motivation, and your dreams. Here's to fulfilling your dreams, to working for what you want, for working for what you had. Here's to you pushing me to be the best that I could be in whatever area it was. Here's to you never settling. Here's to you, a one-of-a-kind, fun-loving, free-spirited, live-like-you're-dying kind of guy. I miss you so much more than ever.
I love you, dad. I love you so much.
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