I’ve been working on something light, and so wanted this to be that, but I think the lightness right now is stuck under a layer of heaviness. It’s not quite as simple as saying I miss my dad. I think it’s more the day-to-day reality that he’s not around anymore, and really feeling it. I’ve been seeing his face—not the alive face, the smiling, cheerful one—but the soft, still face I saw when I kissed him goodbye in my last earthly farewell at the funeral home. Peaceful. Content. Comfortable. But gone.
Last night at dinner, the boys ran through the names of relatives and took turns quizzing each other about their love for them.
“Do you love Aunt Pre?”
“Do you love Uncle Scott?”
“Do you love Grandma Red Car?”
“Do you love Daddad?”
“Yes. Even though he’s dead.”
Blunt, to the point, and true.
I excused myself to the bathroom where I could shed some tears alone on the toilet and really feel the feeling of missing him, not just plowing through it. To sit with the sadness of what life feels like without him. He won’t join us for another dinner around the table. He isn’t here to experience another sunny Northwest Spring day. But I’m thankful that his memory is still fresh, that he is included on the list of relatives we love and that the answer was “yes.”