Your death became an integral part of my testimony and I wonder sometimes if you know that.

If those really tough nights I prayed that God would let you know that we’re okay and that we still love you, that we’ll see you again, He granted my request. Not that I have any inclination of how the other side works, but I really hope He told you.

I don’t talk about that year much anymore because it’s a lot for most people. 

They don’t like to hear how I don’t remember much of anything of that time because I was also battling my own disease. How I almost died a few months after because the stress caused my Lyme disease to really tear my mind and body apart.

But I remember spots. 

The ambulance. The hospital. The news of what’s happening. Watching your last breath. Picking Aisy up from a friend’s house. Standing in the hospital hallway again.

I don’t remember going home. I don’t remember sleeping. I don’t remember most of the days after.

But I remember parts of the funeral. My high school graduation exactly a week later.

After that…nothing.

I don’t even remember how everyone else was doing. I don’t remember asking.

But I do remember that night of the dream. A nightmare of watching you die and us having to bury your body all over again and waking up screaming at God. I had never been so angry with Him before. Telling Him it’s not fair. Telling Him He made a mistake.

The God Who holds the entire lot of creation in the palm of His hand. Yeah, I’ve learned that He didn’t make a mistake but I also learned that He can take my angry outbursts as long as I don’t remain in that angry place.

But what do I talk about?

What happened a year later and consistently in the years that followed.

I went on a college BSM trip to serve and witness to college students during Spring Break at South Padre Island. I talked with a girl who had lost her own dad around the same time as me. I was able to encourage her and pray with her.

That’s when something in my brain clicked.

This was why He took you away.

Even after that trip. I joined jobs and other trips that gave me opportunities to talk with other girls and women who had lost their own dads very recently in their lives. I was put in those places to encourage them. Even in the beginning when I still needed encouragement myself.

And every time those moments came up, I felt the tug. This is why.

But the thing is – that’s MY why. The reason God gave me for why my Dad isn’t here anymore.

His reason is different for everyone in my family. And there are moments when I really…really wish he was still here with us. Big moments like weddings and new kiddos joining the crew. And there was a long stretch when I didn’t miss him so much that I feel guilty about. But I think that’s a part of grief years later when you’re so used to them not being there that it’s easy to forget.

That is, until I moved to Ohio and I had two more dreams that involved my Dad. 

One happened just after starting my new job and I found him just outside one of the doors like he had been there waiting for me the whole time. I don’t want to dissect that dream but the second one was a moment I really needed.

I had just moved into my apartment and was giving him a tour of the place and was telling all about my hopes for moving to this little state. He said he was proud of me and gave me a hug. A girl doesn’t realize how badly she needs a hug from her Dad until moments like that happen.

The past couple of years have intensified the grieving process though. Losing my older brother has brought up so many feelings and memories and moments that make the old wounds feel fresh again. Going to therapy for the first time in my life made me realize I had missed that process 18 years ago. There’s so much I still haven’t unpacked from that time that I may never get to. And I guess that needs to be okay. 

Why am I sharing all of this?

Because, Dad, you are worth remembering.

You are worth talking about in conversations.

You are still a part of my life even though you’ve been gone half of my life now.

I am not the same kid from 18 years ago and I wish you could be here to meet the 36-year-old who still has moments of needing her Dad.

I could spit all the cliche phrases of “Everything happens for a reason”, “We all grieve differently”, “It’s gonna be okay”, “He’s in a better place”.

And sure, I believe those words.

But there are days like today that I think it’s okay to really miss the loved ones who have gone on before us. To take some time and relive those memories. To write them letters they’ll never read and speak to them as if they’re in the room with us. 

And that’s what I do.

Dad, I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again. You will always be remembered.