Dear Dad

When I have to tell people my dad has died, passed away…whatever term you want to use it feels as though I’m lying. Like its blasphemy. I know it’s the truth, but still….I look at his pictures and I just can’t believe he’s not just a phone call away. I want to pick up the phone just to prove to myself that it's wrong, that he isn’t gone. When I was home in Virginia, I’d lie in in my child hood bedroom, dad’s office, and now a guest room thinking if I could just find him, if I ran from room to room maybe I would find him. He had to be there somewhere.

I didn’t get to say good bye. One minute he was here and the next he was gone.
He's been in and out of the hospital since I was 9 or 10, so you could say I've been preparing for this moment my whole life. But in a way its even more of a shocker, because every single time, no matter what the odds were...he's always pulled through. He's always been ok.

I had to drive down the road that I came down the day I got the call and the memory was so fresh. One minute I was laughing with friends at a child's birthday party, the next I was crumpled on the couch wondering how on earth I was going to tell my brother that our dad was gone.

I look at pictures of "before" and I feel as though I am (as my sister Valerie said) really an adult now. Like my innocence is gone, whatever that means.I know he knew how much I loved him and how much I admired him for his courage and his determination and his unwavering support but I want to tell him again. I’d give anything for just one more conversation. Dad, you used to come into whatever room I was in and ask me what I was reading, and I’d say a book. You always got upset because I wasn’t more specific about what I was reading. I always got annoyed because I didn‘t think the details would mean anything, but I’d give anything to be able to tell you. I’d put the book down and give you a whole rundown.

I thought planning the funeral, going to see you one last time at the funeral home ect...was the hard part. But after the funeral was over, I realized that was just the beginning...continuing to live is the hard part. Continuing to "be" day to day, to go forward...that's the hard part. But your love, Dad, has given me to the strength to continue. No matter what obstacle was placed in your path, you never gave up and you never complained. In every picture I have of you, your joy in life, in us and in Connor is so evident. My most treasured memory is your laugh, I can hear it so clearly sometimes its as if you are here with me.

It is true, the greatest gift my Dad gave to us was each other. As a family we are strong and being surrounded by such an enormous amount of love makes the pain easier to bear. Even here in Connecticut, I feel surrounded by their love every day. I have been told that seeing us standing together (us four kids) in the funeral home parlor, at the funeral and again at the DLA ceremony was magical...that I believe is a true testament to my Dad, to the amazing person that he was.