Hi Dad:
It is so strange to be talking to you like this. Hoping and praying that you can hear me and that you are with me. It’s been almost a year since you’ve been gone and I still cannot wrap my mind around that fact. Every part of my life is filled with bittersweet memories of all the things you taught me, all the things you gave me throughout the years. It’s so painful to go for the phone to call you and share my world with you and know you will not pick up.
I wanted to tell you, back in February, that my crocus buds were ready to bloom. I wanted to ask you if they would survive the rest of the winter, knowing you would tell me that they would. A few days later, it snowed and they were covered up. But when the snow had melted some, there they were, open and reaching for the sun, just as you would have said.
I wanted to tell you that all my hyacinths had breached the soil, like the nose of a whale bursting through the surface of the ocean. And now, I would tell you that some of them have actually opened up and are filling the air with the sweet fragrance of spring.
The night before the first March blizzard, I pulled up into my driveway, stepped out of my car and heard the song of the first spring peepers. I grabbed my cell phone, ready to tell you, but instead I looked up at the stars that filled the clear night sky and said, “Hey Dad…the peepers are here!!” But you probably already knew that, didn’t you? This morning, Kyle left me a little yellow sticky note that said, “Peepers are out this morning!” And so it goes. Tradition continued. But it did bring tears to my eyes.
This morning, Good Friday, as I look out my window, all the snow is gone. The goldfinches at the feeder are turning yellow again. The song sparrows are singing their little hearts out and the red-winged blackbirds are back. There are buds on my magnolia tree. And I can hear you saying in a sing-song voice, “Spring has sprung. The grass is riz. I wonder where the flowers is.” Is it so bad that I am really pissed that I cannot see your laughing eyes as you recite this little ditty, as you had for years? If so, then I am sorry, but I am really mad. Not at you, but at life. I wanted to tell you that I planted some pansies from seed this year. It was miraculous to see the little green shoots poking through just a week later. And when I was transplanting them into bigger pots, they kept falling apart and I wanted to call you to see if you could give me some advice on how to stop them from crumbling in my hand because I ended up, pretty much planting each individual shoot, one by one, into the larger pots and it was not an easy task. That day I was really pissed.
Well, maybe I am a little mad at you for not telling us how sick you really were. Giving us a head’s up. A little time to prepare. Not that anything could have prepared us. I always believed you would live forever, or at least to 100. But I know it was to save us from worrying about you. You were sheltering us from pain, as you always, always did. I miss you Dad. Every second of every day. Stay with me, please?
All my love, your favorite #2 daughter.
Meg