Feels like I’m rarely hanging out on A Thyme for Milk and Honey these days, but I was reminded of Superman so here we are.
There will never be a year in all my life when this week won’t bring back memories of letting dad go.
The everyday mundane seems to magnify during this week.
Dad was a builder, and currently at our new building downtown we are building. Walls are being torn down and parts and pieces are getting fixed and put together. New creations built from classic staples are coming alive.
And all the while, we have help galore with these projects. (Let me be clear, I am not a physical builder. I am not doing the laborious physical work.)
I am grateful, yet I’m also incredibly sad.
The physical building of these various things, both small and large, would have been thrilling for Dad.
I even told Kayla yesterday with regard to a “wood project” we are working on, “Man, if my dad was still here this would have been his thing.”
Dad was so many things, and I’ve been missing him every single day for almost 2 years now.
2 Years and Remembering Dad
On this week’s podcast episode for my company, A Gutsy Girl, I recorded the show solo.
The show is dedicated to Dad, and if you want to listen in, you can.
If not, there’s something else I wanted to record here.
I wrote letters “to dad” during his final days.
Here was the first paragraph on August 8, 2019 (just 5 days before he passed):
I laugh because I can still see and hear him saying it, with a twinkle in his eye yet voice so frail. He never wanted us too concerned about him.
Fast forward to today.
Here is what I’d write:
You were Superman, Dad.
Actually, still are. You always will be.
These days, even almost 2 years later, still sting.
Just when I think time has been my friend, I realize that time has been just that…..time.
It passes, but I still miss you.
I mean, we all do.
All the big life events we have done without you these past 2 years have not gone unnoticed.
You know, when JJ got married, it felt like my own wedding day if you weren’t there; totally crushing. I’m sure JJ smiled through tears he didn’t want to show; mom showed tears through what was likely a smile she sometimes had to show.
Your chair in the garage is gone, and so is the truck we drove to all your appointments. I drove that truck home for us the final day we went to the VA in Minneapolis. It made a pit-stop at your fave pit-stop, McDonald’s – for a chocolate shake.
Little-by-little it seems your physical belongings vanish.
And yet you’re still part of my life every single day. I keep you safe in my phone, on my desk, next to my bed, and mostly in my heart. I mean, it’s the only place I’m certain you’ll be able to stay forever.
Instead of August 13th being the day you left this Earth I now just call it, “Dad’s Day.”
Maybe next year on my calendar it will simply be, “Superman’s Day.”
Hell – you believed it and so did we.