I have been missing you this week. I wanted to call for Father's Day, but there isn't a connection. I miss talking with you. You listened to me and knew who I was. You really listened. You knew me. You knew what I liked. You knew what I would wear when you were buying presents. You knew what I was thinking--at least sometimes. I miss that. I'm thankful that you loved me. Since I was small I knew that you loved me. That is a gift. I love thinking about you laughing so hard that you almost fell out of the chair. When I pass an old car I think of you. We saw a U-haul truck with antique license plates. That made me want to call you.
I'm sorry that life was hard for you, but you made it so that life wasn't so hard for me. I have thought about you many times and had some new insights recently. I'm just sorry that it wasn't until after you died. One day I was having a hard time with my emotions. I said some things harshly to the boys that I shouldn't have said. I went to the kitchen and thought, "I hope they know that I don't want to be this way--that I really love them." Then it hit me. I bet you thought that too. I bet there were many times when you wished you were different--when you wished that you could deal with your emotions better and that we would know how you really felt inside. I get that now. I haven't ever gotten that before.
Peter and I read a book about a man who returned from WWII after being a prisoner of war. He had such a hard time adjusting to life back home, and many of the descriptions of his demeanor and actions reminded me of you. I had a hard time even reading some of it. I bet that some of those words and actions stemmed from you being in a war. I didn't understand. I couldn't probably. I'm sorry that you didn't have time or opportunity to heal from that. Reading about this helped me to understand you better. I wish it would have happened years ago.
I love you Dad. I miss you. I wish you were here.