Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I can’t help but think back to the last time I wrote to you. You were still suffering from insomnia, eyes sore from lack of sleep and telling me how you missed dreaming. Missed rest. I had just moved to the city. You wrote a comforting response when I told you that the towering concrete and metal buildings made me homesick. That was years ago. Why haven’t I written to you sooner? Too caught up with work I suppose.

I still am a little homesick. Being surrounded by all this grey when I could be home with you surrounded by rolling hills and endless gardens. Everything here is so busy and everyone is worried about destination, destination. No time to pause and think about the journey. No time to enjoy. You were always good at that. Not taking anything for granted. Living in the moment while not forgetting the past or the future. I don’t know how you picked up that skill and to be honest I envy it.

I miss vacationing in the city with you. It seems so much more chaotic knowing that this is my home I return to instead of a small escape. And the business around me seems that much more intimidating without your guidance. As if the regular adjusting isn’t hard enough, memories we share keep weaving their way into my head at the most inconvenient times. If you can’t tell, I’ve lost all ability to have grace under pressure or enjoy little surprises such as resurfacing recollections. I’ve lost a lot of what I had of you in me.

It’s funny how when you leave a place, your perception of it changes. I can only remember home as being basked in warm sunshine always, the garden perfectly cut and trimmed. Winding roadways to nowhere peaceful that had no rush. I know that wasn’t always the case. But I don’t want to ruin the image. I can almost see you sitting on the porch; hands calloused from work, hair smoothed back in an attempt to tame it. And how could I forget warm brown eyes that could scold me calmly and gleam with excitement over the little things? Or your pieces of advice that could mend any problem. I miss home, but I miss you too. Mom as well. But between you and me I miss you more. And don’t scold me for doing so.

I won’t be able to see you. But mom said she’s coming up here soon. I will visit though, promise. And maybe I’ll bring some of your favorite flowers. I bet you’d like that. And maybe I’ll help mom clear the weeds around your little plot. I know you would love to do it yourself but we both know that’s not happening any time soon. And now for the big news. I took Beth the doctor a little while ago. You’re going to be a grandparent. I know how happy mom will be to hear the news. I’m not sure about you though.

I wish I could tell all of this to your face instead of putting it in some letter I’ll just end up placing on your grave the next time I visit. But I can’t. And you told me never to fear death. That it was okay. That it was making room for new life. Well you made room for new life, that’s for sure. And like I said, mom and I will clear the weeds growing by your headstone. I wish you could see the engraving. Simple but perfect. Much like you.

Love you always,

Your grateful son