Now I say, “I know my Dad loves my girls.”
I think that he’s always known them. I just do.
I feel like all I’ve been talking about on this blog lately is loss. And well, I don’t want to be depressing today. Because I’m not depressed; instead, I’m remembering my Dad on the day that he died – 26 years ago when I was 10.
It doesn’t matter for how long we have someone in our lives – ten years or two months or two hours – they lived and they meant something.
Their lives mattered.
I never got to know my Dad as an adult; and I’ll never be happy for that.
But, I’m thankful for my siblings – that I get to know him through them.
There’s nothing better than seeing my brothers’ mannerisms and hearing their laughs.
He lives on.
…though none of my brothers can grow a ‘stache or a head of hair that even remotely compares to his.
A few posts about my Dad.