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Dad, it's been 2 years since you spoke. Two years since your body was warm and held a beating heart. The last thing I told you when you were conscious and still looked like yourself was to not use your parting phrase, "Be Sweet" with me but instead say, "Be Strong".  I would not know then, with sharp sass was on my tongue, how much I would need that strength I told you to proclaim.

There's been another year of life lived without you. Simultaneously time is trotting by and I feel a bit stuck in that hospital room where you were last alive.

Over the last few months, your absence has felt more acute. So much so that I tired to rent your beloved post office box in Rockmart. I don't even live there anymore. Mom rightfully asked what I would use it for, and I told her I would send myself gifts. Do not fear, the box was taken, but when I asked if it was free, I didn't say your name or mine and the Post Office attendant knew - she said, "your dad's box." I almost fell to the floor in gratitude and grief - my chest feeling tight from being known. She said they were talking about you the other day and they miss you so. Your name is still being spoken, which is a gift to know.

I successfully mentioned you and your death in a recent job interview. Amazingly, I still got the job.


I also have a low key shine to you in my home - complete with a Willie Nelson watercolor, your hat and canteen, and a letter your wrote me. Your picture has been my lock screen for almost 2 years. I may change it soon, but I can't imagine what I would put in your place. Paris? The Mountains? Brad Pitt? Who knows?

I miss the things that you and I have in common - your ardent tradition keeping, your unrealistic expectations for the Holidays to be like the movies,  and your breakfast making skills. I've now taken on those things in your absence. It stinks.

Mostly I miss your hugs and the since of security your presence brought me. No one made me madder than you, but I knew that your love was always beside me
. And when I wanted you to fix something - you'd show up. I got to have a long childhood. Frankly, some parts of childhood are still around since mom is still breathing on Earth, but a lot of it left when you did. The growth isn't bad, it's just painful - which is always the case, I'm learning.

Mom and I took your friend around town today and mom mentioned it was your second death(iversary) and your friend said, "he was a great friend, a great friend".  Yes you were. So many feel your absence like a wound. What a life.

Love you, dad.