You know on those really unrealistic medical TV shows, when the family is waiting in the waiting room, the doctor walks in and says "I'm sorry we did everything we could". One year ago it wasn't just a TV show, it was real life. And it sucked. Just exactly four months before, I had lost my sweet little boy and now I got the news that I had lost my dad.
Just moments before, I was happily shopping at target with my husband and son and I got the call that my dad was down on the floor at my parents home and they were doing CPR... I knew at that moment that my world was going to crash.... AGAIN. With Brecken I knew months in advance that I was going to lose him. With my dad I never got to say good-bye.
To be honest, I have had a difficult time grieving the loss of my father. This complicated grief that has been piled on like a stack of books. Trying to process one but also the other. Two different people, two different relationships, and two different ways I got to (or didn't get to) say good-bye. I often find myself making excuses for my dad being gone. He is on a trip, he is at work, something or anything to justify the fact that he just can't be gone.I miss my dad like crazy, and I yearn for that moment that I could have told him that I loved him. But I am still angry about him leaving. I am angry that his health wasn't more important to him. I am angry that he didn't take better care of himself. I am angry that he may have had a chance to prevent a heart attack this early in his life. I am angry, and that can be OK. My grieving process with my dad has been a slow one and different in many ways. But I am incredibly proud of who my dad was and what he did for the city of Hudson and I am proud to be his daughter.
Dad,
Easton misses you. He misses yard work days with you. He misses telling you about his day at school. He misses eating ice cream with you. He misses his papa.I know that you are taking good care of my sweet angel Brecken. Hold him tight, kiss him goodnight, read him books and tell him all about giraffes.
I miss you and those corny, somewhat unfunny jokes you always told. Those ones that went over moms head. Then I had to explain. I miss you lighting up when you were with my kiddos. I miss spending time with you in the living room just watching football.
We will always remember you and will remind Easton and all your future grandchildren what an awesome guardian angel Papa they have.
And just know we are trying really hard to take good care of mom.
Love you.
Your firstborn.
