Hey Dad,

It’s just me, it’s been awhile.

You know I think about you almost every day. I wonder how you are. I wonder where you are. I wonder what you’re doing. But most of all I wonder and hope you are happy and safe.

It doesn’t seem possible to me that it’s been six months, 26 weeks, 182 days that you’ve left planet earth. I’m not sure where the time has gone. But the days and seasons just keep passing by rolling into the other.

So here’s the thing dad, I’m not feeling very prolific or creative today. I don’t have any eloquent words to describe what life has been like since you died. In many ways it’s been very different but in many ways it’s been very much the same. I worry because I realize I have forgotten what your voice sounds like, or what you smell like.
In fact, the last time I was at moms I actually went and stood in your closet. I pressed my face against your clothes to smell you in hope I could smell the faint trace of your cologne. I looked at all your stuff on your dresser and I felt in many ways like an intruder as I ran my hands over your things. Just knowing that your hands touched what my hands touched gave me some comfort.

I saw and felt your ashes. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that you were once this larger than life man that used to comfort and scare the hell out of me at the same time. To see your physical body reduced to a seven pound sack of white ashes is crazy to me.

Some days I’m still really troubled and incredibly sad about a lot of stuff surrounding your death. Other days I’m at peace with it all and have the philosophy that it is what it is. Most days however, when I think about you I’m wistful and have a smile on my face as I find myself chuckling about something you might’ve said.

All I can tell you Dad is that grief is complicated. I wish I had been brave enough to sit down with you and asked you what you went through when your mother died. I wish I had been brave enough to talk to you about feelings – to get down to the nitty-gritty with you and be vulnerable. But I didn’t because you and I just didn’t do that. 
We had this understanding I guess, you and I.

You know Dad, all three of us have really circled the wagons and we are taking care of mom with great joy. You’d be so proud of all of us dad. You be the proudest of Mom.

She’s a goddamn trooper. A goddamn trooper. That woman has exhibited some of the most amazing strength I’ve ever seen in a human. She saw me through a pretty horrific surgery and faced head on the fact that not only had she lost her best friend of 60 years that her oldest kid almost bit the bullet twice. And she keeps on going.

Lisa and Cris have been not only her but my biggest supporters as well. There’s this strength within our family that has always been there but has really shown itself over the past six months. I’m just so grateful for that.
We are thriving. I think that’s what I want you to know the most. If anything can give you peace of mind it would be to know that we are OK, in fact, I think it’s safe to say that we are good.

The music Nick is making I hope reaches all the way up through the ethers for you to hear. He’s working so hard at his craft. I know that college and universities never really impressed you but I can’t help but think you would’ve been so damn proud to know that he was accepted into Stanford for music at 15. He’s taking up an interest in organs which made me really smile because I know that that was your instrument of choice. And Dad! He really likes a girl from school. As you would’ve said “He’s got it bad!” It’s so sweet to watch. He’s growing up into a fine young man.
Today dad I wish that I was nine years old again in the Sears store in Seattle.

I wish that I was walking by your side once again going through the bike department and hearing you ask me which one of the bicycles I like the best. And thinking you were crazy for asking me that because we just had a conversation the day before about the fact you didn’t think it was safe for me to be riding a bike on the streets of Seattle. Ha!!

Do you remember dad the look on my face when I pointed out shyly the turquoise spider bike with the sissy bar, bell and banana seat? Especially when you looked at the clerk and said “We’ll take that one, wrap it up!” I don’t think I loved you more at that moment than I ever have. I remember clearly you smelled of Aqua Velva and cigarettes and hearing you say to me “Happy birthday daughter!”

That’s going be something I remember for the rest of my life.

I miss you dad, and I love you.
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