Dear Dad: Father's Day

Dear Dad,

Father's Day

Happy Father's Day! I wish more than anything I could say that to you in person. I realized about a week ago that today was not only going to be Father's Day, but also exactly six months since you passed away. I thought it must be some cruel cosmic joke that these two days - two days that would have been difficult enough on their own - would fall on the exact same day. But, in a weird way, it also feels kind of fitting. I mean, I really can't imagine a better way to remember you and how amazing you are than on Father's Day. In life, you loved us more than anything and were always quick to let us know how proud you were to be our father. I can't imagine having a better dad than you.

Christmas 2009 - China Christmas ornament from me to Dad

I'm so grateful for all of the time that we spent together. We did so many things! We went to China together. We spent 10 days being led around looking at so much history. I remember how excited you were to see the Terra Cotta warriors. That made that whole experience so much better (because, let's be honest, I wasn't exactly the most adventurous while we were there). We went to the top of the tallest building in Shanghai (as the time) and I know that you had definite mixed feelings about that. I teased you about being afraid of heights, but I think you thought it was really cool more than anything else. We also went to Beijing and saw the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square. How incredible was it to be standing where so much important history had occurred? It was such a special trip and I am so glad that I have those memories with you.

We drove out to Utah my sophomore year and back to Georgia after I graduated from BYU. I loved going on road trips with you because you had the best music (except for when we were in the north Georgia mountains and you felt the need to listen to bluegrass banjo music nonstop) and you liked to stop at unique places along the way. Without you, I would never have gone to the St. Louis Arch, Nostalgiaville, the Prairie Dog farm, the Grand Canyon, seen "real" dinosaur footprints in Arizona, a gigantic crater, or Cadillac Ranch in Texas. I also would never have stayed at those sketchy Red Roof Inns, but I guess I can count that as an experience as well. We were silly and goofy and talked about all sorts of things. You listened to me complain about boys and didn't even roll your eyes once (at least, not when I was looking). You let me listen to whatever music I wanted to listen to, even if you hated it, and you didn't complain too much when I jumped all over different playlists making you listen to songs that I loved. You taught me how to distinguish a Silverado from all other trucks and made a game out of spotting them first. I loved impressing you with my knowledge of classic rock, because the look of surprise and pride on your face when I started to sing along to a song on one of your Pandora stations was always worth it.

It's been six months since I said goodbye to you that Sunday morning before leaving for church. I remember so distinctly sitting next to you at the table eating breakfast. I don't think we talked about anything in particular. Just normal Sunday morning chit chat. I remember very clearly you asking me, "Are you coming to church with us?" with a hope in your voice that I would be joining you. I wish my answer had been different. I regret every day not changing my mind and spending those last few hours with you. Had I known they would be the last, I would have taken every minute I could get. I missed so much that day and, if I could go back in time, I would change everything about it.

I love you and miss you more than I know how to say, Dad. More than I know how to feel and understand. I wish things were different. I wish you were here.

Thank you for being my dad. I am so very, very blessed to be your daughter.