Thursday, March 21, 2013

dear daddy (two years).

Dear Daddy,

I literally cannot believe that it's been two years today since I've seen your handsome face. It's been two and two days since I've heard your voice. It's been two years and five days since I've  hugged you and felt you hug me back. I hate that.


I miss your voice more than I miss just about anything about you. Your phone calls were such a stable thing in my life. I could depend on hearing your voice every single day. I don't think I ever went more than 24 hours without hearing it, even in college. I loved knowing that I could call you at any hour of the day and you would answer. I loved knowing that if you left me a voicemail, I could guess exactly what it would say, even before I listened to it. I could depend on your voice. I could depend on you.



 


So much has happened in the last two years and there are days when I'm overwhelmed with the reality that I cannot make that phone call anymore to ask for advice or guidance. I can't share my thoughts and feelings with you in your office anymore. I can't ask you to calm my fears and talk sense into my doubts. I miss that. I miss the way you could calm me down. I miss the reassuring hugs you gave me on so many of my worst days. I just miss you.





You knew that I wasn't going to work for you forever, and after you were gone, I couldn't bear to be in that office. I couldn't bear to see someone else in your space, doing your job (and not as well as you did it). I couldn't bear to see your office empty or your chair turned around toward the window, like you were just sitting there thinking. So I quit. I went back in for one day, typed up my resignation letter, packed up my stuff, and left. I couldn't do it without you. I hope you understand and forgive me for leaving the thing that you worked so hard to build and to save. I am ashamed of that and disappointed in myself, but I would have needed your guidance for much longer in order to have been successful there without you.


 


After I got done moping and crying and refusing to get out of bed, I had some hard decisions to make. I've never made a hard decision in my life without your input up until two years ago! I didn't know how to do it with just one sounding board instead of the two that I was used to. What was I going to do with my life? Who was I going to be? Where was I going to do it? How was I going to do it? It took a lot of praying, a lot of crying, a lot of talking, and a lot of doing things that scared me to make the big decisions. I am meant to be a teacher. You knew it. I needed to find my joy again. You told me that. I needed to become a grown-up. You wanted that for me. So I started doing it all. I hope you're proud of the decisions that I have made and that you would have encouraged to follow a similar path.




Thank you for loving me so fiercely. Thank you for hugging me and kissing me, even when I resisted. Thank you for giving me advice. Thank you for providing for us. Thank for you for cultivating my love of books and flowers. Thank you for taking us on vacations that provide endless memories. Thank you for teaching me how to fish. Thank you for coming to visit me while I was in school and for never saying no to buying me a plane ticket home. Thank you for loving my friends as much as I did. Thank you for defending me. Thank you for taking the blame if I didn't want to be somewhere. Thank you for encouraging me to be creative, even when I was certain that I did not possess a single creative bone. Thank you for listening to good music. Thank you for letting me listen to terrible music. Thank you for taking us to the movies. Thank you for always answering the phone. Thank you for leaving me notes. Thank you for being dependable. Thank you for being goofy. Thank you for having that funny belly laugh that got all high-pitched. Thank you for surprising me at my Bearathon, letting me cry when it got cancelled on account of lightning, helping me clean up, and then buying me a keg so that I could throw a party. Thank you for coming to that party. Thank you for making me watch John Wayne movies and learn every Jimmy Buffett song ever recorded. Thank you for buying me a car. Thank you for my education. Thank you for reading to me. Thank you for taking me to church. Thank you for telling me no when I needed to hear it. Thank you for usually saying yes. Thank you for everything, Dad.



I wouldn't be who I am today without the huge impression that you made on my life. It's been two years, but there isn't an hour of a day that I don't think about you and miss you. I have moments when I'm incredibly angry at God for taking you away from me so soon. I think about all of the things that I have left to do in my life and I'm sad at the fact that you won't be there to do them with me. I grieve for the times in my life that I won't be able to hear you cheering me on. But then I get to those moments when I find myself still looking for your face in the crowd and guess what? I still see it. I see it in the sunshine, in the way that leaves move on the trees, in the clouds that roll in before a storm. I hear you in lyrics on the radio, in the wind when it roars. I smell you at the beach, when the salt is so thick that it gets in every ounce of my being. I close my eyes and I see your sweet, soft, close-mouthed smile. I see you nod to me, like you always did, as if silently saying, "You're my girl, and I know that you can do this."

I'm so glad that I look like you, because I can only hope that my smiles encourage people like yours always encouraged me.

Thank you for believing in me.

I miss you.

I love you.

I'll see you soon.


don't tell me you love, show me you love me. 

in loving memory

roger scott waynick
october 9, 1960 - march 22, 2011

some of it's magic
some of it's tragic
but i had a good life
all the way

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