Sometimes it feels like yesterday.
Sometimes it feels like forever ago.
Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s true.
Sometimes I still cry like the first time I heard the word spoke that he was gone.
Sometimes I talk to him like he is in the room.
Sometimes we say, “you know what Dad would say”.
Sometimes I ask myself, “will this feeling ever go away?”
The irony is so obvious it feels like a slap in the face. This year the anniversary falls on the longest day of the year. The longest day of the year will be a constant reminder of that day.
Our final act of saying “Goodbye”. The last time we all meant as a family, to send him to his final resting place.
Fathers Day is kinda like a double edge sword. It’s a double whammy. A double reminder as to why this weekend sucks.
These past few days I have been trying hard to avoid thinking about it for multiple reasons.
Sometimes it feels like I’m holding onto a rope that is slowly slipping away. The more “normal” it feels to live in a world without him, the more distance I feel between us.
There is a fear that I might forget something he used to say or the sound of his voice. That fear can be overwhelming at times.
I get caught in an argument with myself , it’s only been 3 years and when are you going to stop talking about “it” like it just happened yesterday.
But then I ask myself, “why does it have to be one or the other?”
He played a huge part in shaping my beliefs, my work ethics, my values and the difference between what’s right and what’s wrong. He showed us what hard work is all about and common sense goes all long way in life.
He was far from perfect, but perfectly imperfect he was.
I would give anything to hear him telling one of his old stories that grew larger every time he told one. Heck, I would even give anything to hear him rant and carry on over why, if Jeff Gordon didn’t win clearly that meant the race was rigged.
The truth is, he is a part of me. That will never change.
I see him everywhere in my everyday life. Whether that be by his picture on my mantel, the crooked lines of his birdhouses he made that live in my perennial garden, or his prayer card at my kitchen sink window or any another item tethered to a memory.
Those are just physical things that are reminders. Like a field full of bales of hay, the smell of Swisher Sweets Cigars, or the sound of a stock-car…just subconscious triggers.
I realize now, Fathers Days are not to be avoided, but to celebrated for the man that will live on in my heart forever.
We miss you Dad. You will live with us always.

Two Step

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