A letter to my Dad

It's been 13 years since you passed on to whatever comes after this life.  You are missed.  I struggle to describe you to my children.  Words just don't do you justice, it seems impossible to relate your essence to them.  You were bigger than life, though that's a common perspective of a daughter to have.  I share my stories that highlight your sense of humor and the girls listen, but it's not enough to convey how fun and crazy you could be.  There is a part of you that lives in me and in my daughters and that is a comfort.

I don't pretend that you were perfect because there were times you were horrible and I wanted nothing to do with you.  I'm forever grateful that I put aside the anger and built a relationship with you.  I still have the card you made me out of duct tape after we began speaking again.  I think it's comical that cribbage was our neutral place to meet and that rarely am I beat playing the game to this day.  I can't watch "Wheel of Fortune" without thinking of you in your den.  I think it would've been awesome to take you skydiving like we planned.  You would've been hooked as much as I was!

I miss you even more now that John is gone, though I'm glad you didn't have to experience that loss.  I'm grateful I'm never alone the way he was, whether it was circumstance or choice.  

I wonder what you would say about my life, and I think you'd be curious about my life in the city (though I'm in the suburbs).  I know my girls would have you wrapped around their fingers and you'd enjoy them.  I mostly believe that you would be proud of me.  I still love adventure and I'll fight if I have to.  I've grown up enough to realize that I don't have to share every opinion and actions speak louder than words.  I run free and learn new things daily.  I've learned time is always short so you have to appreciate those special moments when they happen.  I'm still learning the finer points of gardening and am slowly unlocking the farm girl inside.  My arms are still strong from the summers you made me move hay bales.  

You taught me about choosing happiness, so thanks Dad.  I love you.  And I miss you so much.