A Day to Remember: Letter to Dad

Happy birthday, Dad. 

You would have been eighty-four today. 

Things have changed since you left us, over five years ago.  You were right!  There would be another.  Our son was born, bearing your name, in September of 2010.  He is a happy, exuberant, loving little guy who shares your taste in food (nothing fancy) and music (Lawrence Welk).  He hasn’t discovered Gunga Din or James Bond yet, but time will tell.

I wish you could see him play with his trains and read his books.  Throw little fits, then give kisses and hugs.  Reveal an ear-to-ear smile that lights up the room.  Tackle anything that will stand still, including the cat.  Share a fleeting moment of love with Big Sister.

And speaking of Big Sister, you’d be enamored.  The bouncy curls and baby face have been replaced by long, lean limbs, chestnut-colored hair, and a straight-toothed smile that would knock your socks off.  Instead of horsey rides on your lap, she’d be keen to show you her cartwheel, backbend or latest doll.

The children don’t resemble me much, physically.  But I do see a glimmer of myself in their personalities, especially Big Sister.  Her tentative and shy demeanor when she doesn’t know someone well.  Her sensitivity.  Her preference to spend time with a select few, rather than running with the mob.  Her ability to become lost in her own world, playing with dolls, pretending and dreaming big. 

She is fortunate to have a father like Husband.  He is a lot like you in many ways.  I watch them together and think of us so often.

As I write this, I am struck by how different I am without you.  There is so much that I miss:  your voice, your eyes, your touch.  I grasp at them in my dreams, but they slip through my fingers, and I’m always left wanting more.

I know that I’ll never hear your voice in the house when I return home for holidays.  I’ll never see “Dear Tootsie” scrawled on your thick, white letterhead, with instructions about car insurance or advice about my problem-du-jour. 

I rejoice that you existed in an age before email, and I have actual letters, with your handwriting, to keep.  I hold these letters dear, and I re-read them often.

A part of me was lost when you left us.  The ground doesn’t seem as steady without you looking over my shoulder.  But I think that allows me the gift of discernment and empathy towards others who may be grieving. 

I think you would be proud of me.

Today I celebrate your life, the integrity with which you lived it, and the lives you touched along the way.  You did not do newsworthy, great deeds, according to our world.  You were a simple and humble man.  But you loved your daughter, in the best way you knew how, and the magnitude of that can never be understated.

I will never stop missing you, remembering you and loving you, Dad.

Love,
Tootsie* (Chin up, shoulders back!)