Dear Papa…

It’s been a year. And oh what a year it has been. Not a single day in the last 365 days has gone by without me thinking about you. Thankfully I have a few reminders scattered throughout the house to help with that. I see your old, antique radio in the living room every morning as I do my meditations & journaling. That goofy camel picture above the guest bathroom toilet reminds me of you too. Because you said it’s the only thing in our entire house you weren’t sure makes sense. But now it has to stay there. Every moment I catch a glance of my inner right wrist I think of you. And it makes my heart simultaneously happy and sad.

Dear Papa…

I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing and what time it was when dad called me that morning. The pain in his voice is something I’ll never forget. As I hung up with him, I slumped out of the first counter barstool and just sobbed. And when I finally got the words out to Kyle, he did too. Because it couldn’t be real. But it was. You were never going to respond to that morning’s text telling you that you needed the new white knife set I had just gotten in the mail the day before. That’s another thing that reminds me of you. Because I had used the $100 bill you gave us from your ‘unnecessary stimulus check’ to order it. But you knew that already – you had just been waiting for me to tell you if I liked it. Time stood still that day.

Dear Papa

Dear Papa..

Waking up the morning after, there was a rainbow. That was your sign, I’m sure of it. The few days following were a blur. When we passed the turn for your house on August 9, we lost it again. The sadness was so deep that just writing about it now brings every emotion flooding back into my heart. Last month when we went to visit mom & dad, I almost asked Kyle to take the next exit so I didn’t have to pass by another time. When the news you left with Jesus that night to be went to be with Nanny got out, the love poured in. I think you’d be pretty overwhelmed, in the best of ways, with just how many people you had an impact on. It made me so proud that others were able to witness what a great man you were. Your burial the same way.

Dear Papa…

So much has happened this past year. The world is a messy place right now. Sometimes I think God knew you wouldn’t want to see what things look like right now. And that he spared you having to say ‘Jeez-O-Flip’ 100x a day… 🙂 I have wanted to tell you so many things, text you life updates, get your advice on our ice machine. You missed Amazon Prime Days! And the Nordstrom sale. Sharing links for those just wasn’t the same. You didn’t get to meet Georgia. But you’d love her. I imagine you’d be quite amused with her little voice. And while I’m so happy you had the chance to hold Smith, it makes me sad you don’t get to see how thick his thighs are now. Or watch Palmer play hockey. And see Campbell’s personality coming to life. Or Janae finish college.

Maybe more than anything though, I’m sad you none of Kyle and I’s future babies will get to know you. Because that would’ve been awesome. I know our infertility struggles upset you. That you wished there was more you could do. But you helped us pay for the shots and medications that led to a successful retrieval. And I just really wanted to text you then to say thank you. Instead we said a little prayer. I like to think that you and Nanny are keeping a close eye on the babies we’ve lost. The fact you two have been able to meet them first makes their losses a little less difficult I guess. Make sure Nanny sings ‘catch a falling star’ to the 3 of them, please.

Dear Papa…

We’re doing ok. As ok as we can. Mom misses you a lot. Well, actually we all do. You’d be proud of how strong she’s been, even if she doesn’t always feel like she has been. Sometimes I just talk to you out loud. I still hear your commentary loud and clear in so many scenarios. For that I’m so grateful. While the pain and sadness are a little more bearable as each day passes, the amount we miss you never gets less. 365 days without you seems far too long, but you had been without Nanny for so many more and I understand it was time. I like to think that when Jesus came and tapped you on the shoulder that night, that you two headed home in a Raptor…

I love you, Papa. I miss you more than I can explain. But you’re home now. And for that we can say Amen.