Dear Dad – It’s been three years since you departed this earth, and while I still think of you every day, it is not in an unhappy or painful way – it’s more of a reassurance. Your presence is with me, guiding and comforting me throughout all the difficult days, and whenever I find myself in doubt or worry, I think of you, and somehow you help me get through it. In so many ways, you are still working as my father, in the same dogged way you worked when you were alive.
That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you – and it’s keener at family events and gatherings, when you would be the only other person who understood me and my place. It’s lonelier now. My heart is a bit emptier. Nothing fills that void, so I work around it, allowing it to exist as a testament to the love we shared. In that strange way, grief is a comfort, a continual reminder of your presence, a constant reassurance of your love.
You’ve been on my mind lately, as summer takes a rainy and darker turn, and moments of melancholy remind me of that final summer we had. Those last days of yours went so fast but felt so slow, and I’m grateful for that time – it was a fitting and honorable goodbye, the same way you lived your entire long life. You closed it out neatly, quietly, lovingly. You let us say goodbye, and when you were ready you slipped away in the night. I would be lucky to follow in your footsteps.
On the morning of your funeral service, it poured rain – the same way it’s been pouring rain for the last week. Maybe that’s bringing me back to you, or you to me, and for once I’m not unhappy about such dour weather. It’s a comfort, like you have always been – a gentle nudge of nourishment for the soul. I don’t need to look to the cemetery or the church to feel or find you – you remain with me always – in this rain, in our tomato plants, in your grandchildren, in any little incident that reminds and rekindles a funny memory of you. Then I remember you smiling and laughing, sometimes so much that you had to take your glasses off and rub your eyes.
I can smile through the tears now too.
