It’s been 24 years since I last saw you — and it’s only in these past few years that I’ve had words and tools to really know how grieve.
When I was little, I just couldn’t get it.
I don’t remember a lot.
And one of the main reasons it’s so been hard is because I have always begged for you to be back in my life somehow.
Some plea for this to not be my reality.
But as I reflect this year, on the anniversary of your death, it feels a little different.
It feels like release.
Like safety to let go a little bit more.
Like rest.
And tonight I wish for you to Rest (even more deeply) In Peace because I don’t pine for you to come back as often anymore.
Instead, I behold the resilience and strength that we built without you here. I ponder the fact that maybe we didn’t need you as much as I thought we did?
Of course I do still miss you — and am grateful that you loved me in the best way you could for the short time you were in my life.
And I am thankful that, though your sense of humor bloomed from pain and sometimes masked it (and so does mine), you passed it on to me as a coping tool that is also used to bring joy.
You needed it because you were haunted with your own demons. Your own pain. Your own guilt and shame and worry and sadness and grief.
We all are.
But you also brought a lot of joy.
I love you, daddy.