I miss him. I didn't expect to miss him, but I do.
There are things that I would have told him if he were still here. Things that aren't important, but that I could have told him.
I chose my words carefully the last few years. One of Daddy's Parkinson's symptoms was anxiety. I never wanted to add to that anxiety, so I chose my words very carefully.
We talked about the weather. A lot.
I guess that aside from death being such an unforgiving separation, the timing of it was particularly harsh. We buried Daddy on February 12, the day before my parents were engaged. Two days before Valentine's Day. Six days before Momma and Daddy's 44th anniversary (yes, their engagement was a whopping five days long). Twelve days before my birthday.
This will be the first year I don't get a card from my daddy.
Last year, he sent me a card. I got my feelings hurt because Momma didn't sign it or send one herself. That seems particularly stupid of me now. But last year, I got this card. It was a super sweet "Happy Birthday, Daughter" card that he picked out at the store.
Daddy wrote on the front of the card. He did it all by himself. I couldn't read what he wrote except for the part where he loved me.
I always got the message that he loved me.
I've been looking for that card all day long. I know I didn't throw it away, but I can't find it.
Tomorrow is going to be a very lonely day if I can't find a birthday card from my daddy.
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I've been going through old pictures. The wedding album from my first marriage has some of my favorite pictures of me and Daddy.
I was so young.
He was so healthy.
We were having such a good time.
Dr. Sclater played the same arrangement of "Amazing Grace" at my wedding that he did at Daddy's memorial service.
It was 14 years ago. Only six years before Daddy's diagnosis.
It doesn't seem like that long ago.
