Tuesday, June 12, 2012

31 Things :: Story 21 - Think

I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad lately. This upcoming Father’s Day will be my tenth Father’s Day without him since he died July 30, 2001. Somehow I thought it would get easier but it doesn’t. Yes, we now get to celebrate Jeff being a father and I love being with my in-laws and celebrating with them. But at the end of the day I wish my dad was here. I miss him.
Despite being forty-two years old, I wish my dad was here to give me a hug. He was a man of few words, but his hugs said I love you like nothing else. I want to be his little girl again. Recently we watched old family videos, and I heard his voice behind the camera. And my heart skipped a beat. His voice. Oh, how I miss it. A smile spread across my face, and then the tears rolled down my face. He loved taking videos, and perhaps his soul knew we would need these videos someday to hear his voice and to see what he saw.

I really wish he was here to know Sean. He would get such a kick out of him, I just know it. And I want to see the sparkle in my Dad’s eye that tells me he’s proud of me for raising such an amazing little boy. Sean asks about his Grandpa Gren a lot, and I’m more than happy to share stories. One day Sean was talking about something that was broken and he said, “I bet Grandpa Gren could fix this couldn’t he? He could fix anything. “ Tears sprang forth and I smiled, “He sure could, buddy. Anything.”
The weekend of his accident, Jeff and I were with my parents at their summer home. I was there when the sheriff came to the house. I was with my mom at the hospital when she told the doctor, “please don’t go to extreme measures to keep him alive.” I was able to hold his hand one last time. I count myself blessed and lucky to have spent his last weekend with him fishing, eating ice cream, and going to the casino. All things he loved.

Yet I don’t think I said “I love you dad” that weekend. And I’d give anything to be able to tell him that one more time. A few weeks ago we were cleaning and organizing in the basement and I found my name scribbled in my dad’s writing on an envelope. Inside he had written, “Amy, I love you. Dad” I don’t remember when he’d given this to me, and I couldn’t help but think he continues to reach out to me in tangible ways. Reminding me of his love... especially on Father’s Day.

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