Dad.

5/22/2018

*Journal entry 11.*

Pops—

I’m just sitting on the balcony while the sun sets; overlooking all the beautiful colors of the sky, the trees, the flowers…. Wishing you were here. You always understood the bliss that came from witnessing God’s creation….& could be happily surrounded by it for hours. We are the same in that sense. & during most (recent) days, that’s been my saving grace…stepping outdoors & letting the sun wash over me like a warm blanket as the light breeze gently hugs my cheek. It reminds me to keep breathing… And that if even just for a moment, everything will be okay.

It’s rained nearly everyday since you were called home. But I’m sure you already knew that. You would love it. I love it. It makes me think back to when anyone would complain about dark stormy days, you would say, “we could always use more rain.” Every time. I know it’s because you always saw the good in everything. Also, that you couldn’t wait for your gardens to bloom. I now look forward to storms, when in the past I would fear them.

I won’t pretend that I don’t have a huge hole in my heart & life now that you’re gone, dad. Because I do. It’s emptied me out & I’ve felt emotions I never thought possible.. A numbness. A complete heaviness. The kind where you have to remember to lift one foot in front of the other. I’ve felt my mind is often hazy. Because I don’t understand how to “get on with life” when a significant part of me has died.

I think I’ll have a hard time (for a long while) wrapping my head around the fact that I won’t ever get to see, or hug you again this side of Heaven. Or hear your goofy, contagious laugh. Scrabble & putting puzzles together. Drinking stale coffee as we would fish at your favorite lake. Flipping back & forth between watching White Sox & Cubs games. Weekly picnics during summer concerts in the park w mom & family.. The adventures & memories are endless. & I selfishly want more time.

I do however carry a peace in my heart knowing that you’re no longer physically ill & battling cancer, pops. I carry peace in my heart knowing that when you went, you knew with absolute certainty where you were going. During the last 9 months you met every challenge your team of doctors threw at you with “it’s just another hurdle”… & kept living your life like you always have. With absolute strength & dignity.
You kept saying & reminding us that, “If God heals me this side of Heaven, I win. & if he doesn’t, I still win.”
That will always humble my heart.

& if that doesn’t show your heart, faith, & character in all you were during this lifetime, I don’t know what will.

I miss you, pops.
Love always,
Meesh.

*I am posting this for no other reason than I have shared bits & pieces of my dad’s journey this past year…& although I haven’t really known what to share since his passing, or had much of a desire to… I thought I’d let you read a journal entry I wrote. If you think it’s weird, that’s fine…This isn’t a plea for help. Or anything of the sort. It is however how I’m choosing to process my pain.* That’s all. 💛

Day 11 without pops.

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