Today would’ve been my dad’s 92nd birthday, if he were still alive. Though we lost him 24 years ago, I still miss him terribly. He had a way about him that made you want to be him. Maybe because he really didn’t care what other people thought of him, though he’d bend over backwards to help you out if you were in need or trouble. Or his yuk yuk laugh. Or that he always wore blue jeans – long before it was cool.
He loved boats – I think because secretly he had a wanderer’s heart and always wanted to travel the world. In fact, the last day of his life, he had gone to the harbor to watch the boats with his wife. Later that day, he passed in his sleep. But I’m glad that it was in a safe and loving place.
Happy Birthday, Dad. I hope there are boats, Budweiser, and country music, wherever you are.
Every June I sing the tune of missing you
Where are you, Pop?
Over the moon?
Watching a game
Having a beer?
I wonder about that.
But where did you go
When you left
This place called life?
Can you give me a hint?
Drop me a feather
Paint a little picture in the clouds?
Just a little celestial wave of the hand
So I know you’re still out there.
So I know
You think about me sometimes too
Just every now and then
I’ll listen between the sighs
For your laugh
It’ll be our secret
You’ve been gone a long time.
And you’d think by now I’d be used to the idea. You’d think that I wouldn’t wonder what your opinion would be about all the crazy crap going on in the world today.
You’d think that the arrival of Father’s Day wouldn’t still hurt like hell when I realize there is no place to send a gift, a card or place a call.
But hell, you’re my dad and I still miss you.
I still want to call you up when I’m feeling blue or when something kick-ass happens. Or when I hear a really funny story. Or even when I see a Budweiser commercial.
I still feel the need for your wisdom. For your perspective. For your cantankerous attitude about all things flaky.
I laugh when I imagine what you’d say about political correctness, climate change and the outlawing of plastic bags and light bulbs.
The worst part is not knowing where you are.
Are you living a new life in Minnesota as a slack millennial? Are you organizing a country band in Heaven? Are you blissfully floating out there in the ether? Or are you just sitting on my shoulder, whispering, everything is going to be all right?
Wherever you are I hope they have boats, Budweiser and country music. I hope they have good coffee and color TV. I hope you’re happy.
I hope that you know that I love you and miss you and wish you were here.
All my ♥
Here we are once again. To say I miss you doesn’t begin to state the absence I feel. Every day I think about you and wonder where you are. In heaven? In another life? In some paralell universe? Do they have Budweiser and country music there?
What bothers me is that lately I’m forgetting. Not you. Not the events of that past life. But the sound of your voice. The lines of your craggy face. Your presence. The connection. I fight it but maybe it is time to let go. Maybe that is the way it is supposed to be. Maybe I’m not letting you move on and you need to. Still, it’s hard to open my clutching hand. It’s hard to set you free. It’s hard to let you have a life without me.
You will always be my hero. You will always be the most important person in my life. I will never forget the lessons you taught me. I am proud to be your daughter. The morning sky will always make me think of your eyes. And summer tomatoes and Wheaties and black coffee and chocolate ice cream cones.
Thanks Dad – for being you. For being there.
You were my heart
from the first look
from the first word
from the first wink
from the first tear
from the first night
You were my everything
and you are still.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you and miss you.