What I would Tell You

Well Dad, it's been one full month without you here.  One month of not hearing your voice answer the phone with "Hi Dear".  One month of not seeing your face, your smile, your gentle hands.  One month of no kisses on my cheek.  One month of learning the new language of past tense, having to correct myself when I say things like "going to Mom and Dad's" or "heading to my parents" or simply talking about you as if you were still there.  I love you and miss you.

There are so many things I would tell you if you were still here.  I'd let you read the kids report cards and tell you all about their teacher interviews.  I can picture you nodding in agreement with everything I was saying because you already know how amazing your grandkids are.  I'd tell you all about how we finally bought a new tap for the laundry tub and Dave installed it the very same day (then I'd have to ask you if you wanted the old tap for scrap).  I'd tell you all about our appointment at the bank and renewing our mortgage and what we learned there because I know how interested you would be in that.  I would tell you about my trip to the shop to have our van krowned, and how awkward waiting for it was, with some arguing receptionists.  I'd tell you that  Beth sold her pony, and how everything just fell into place so easily for her, and that she's already shopping for a horse, I know how your eyes would have lit up with that story.  You'd want to know that Dave had the mri on his knee and the results showed nothing wrong, so that very week he returned to volleyball and running.

I've put pictures of you up in the house.  The kids each have one on their dressers or book shelves.  I think of you all the time.  I have one a picture on my bedside table that I find myself looking at for long periods of time.  I miss seeing your face, and I just want to imprint your face in my memory, every expression.  Your face is so kind, loving, gentle.  I sure do miss you.

I'm still praying for Jesus to come back soon, so that the rest of us can all go together and be reunited.  And you know, the night Trump was named President, I honestly looked out the window to see if there were any signs.  Yes, that sounds crazy, and pretty silly, but I'm grasping on to every little bit of hope I can find.

I guess there would be one more thing I'd tell you Dad, and that would be that I'm okay, that we are okay.  Time continues to tick on, and with that comes all the things that have to be done in a day.  In all honesty, the night also carries a cloud of sadness, and there are times where falling asleep seems to accompany the flashbacks to the moments in hospital.  But God is so good.  He has filled us with peace and comfort.  He has filled our lives with people who have come along side us and in practical and most endearing, meaningful ways have carried us in our low moments and in that has brought "hard to come by" joy.  So we're okay.  Boy I would take you back in a heartbeat, but I keep reminding myself the amazing joy you must be experiencing in heaven.  You've had one month with Jesus, I can't be sad about that.  I just want to tell you that I love you Daddy.