But somehow, my body and my heart knew that it was July 25th.
I sat here and tried to find my way to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tried to do some needed things on the computer. I tried reading some blogs. I prayed and asked God to help me find my way out of the blues.
And then I read another blog about someone who had lost her father, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Blinking through the tears, I looked at the date on my computer, and then I looked through my archives . . . and I found the entry where I posted the date – July 25th – the day I lost my dad. The day of the phone call. Not long after Jon’s 1st birthday – eight years ago. The day that I felt like a very large part of me was gone.
Whether I’ve always liked it or not, he and I were a lot alike, and as I’m getting older it’s becoming even more obvious. And it just
makes me miss him even more. The genetics, they run strong my friends.
I realized the other day how much I’m looking more and more like my dad as I’m getting older. And, while I have to admit that the getting older part feels like it’s getting the best of me somedays, I think about how handsome my dad always was to me. How I loved and respected him.
And if I see his eyes or cheeks or square jaw line when I look in the mirror, that’s ok with me. I’ll take whatever I can get.
I didn’t get to my dad’s house until the day after he died. That was a day full of making sad plans and shock. As I went to bed that night in my childhood bedroom, I had horrible dreams. In my dream, sadness overwhelmed me and in my dream, I began to just disappear.
I remember waking up and having to hug myself because the dream was so real and I wasn’t sure if I had totally disappeared. But obviously I hadn’t. And in reality, my dad hadn’t either.
He just moved on. To a better place. A place of no sadness or tears, no blues, no worries about weight, no wounds. A place of perfect peace.
But his love still remains with me. His words. His encouragement. His laugh. His hugs. His touch. And his stubborn strength. I see my friends with their daughters and I think about the impact that a father has on his daughter, and I’m so thankful for the love of my father (and my Heavenly Father).
Loving somebody, really loving them, is as much physical as it is mental, spiritual, and emotional. It’s all tied together somehow.
And in some mysterious way, my body remembers the date even when my brain doesn’t.
But now that I’ve figured it out, I can rest. I can say, “I love you, Dad. And I miss you so very much, but I know that I’ll see you again. Thanks for being such a good dad. You loved me well.“