Forever Feels Like An Eternity.
2 years ago today I lost my dad. 2 years and 3 days ago I had to make the most difficult decision in my life. He passed away May 11, 2020 at 8:30pm. I miss my dad every single day. People say that a lot when they lose someone close to them. It's become a cliché, and with good reason, but in this instance it is absolutely true. I wrote a letter to my dad a while back. The following is that letter.
Dad, I've thought about you a lot since you've been gone, and sometimes I don't think about you at all. It's not out of a lack of care, or a disregard. It's because I know somehow I've got to keep moving forward. I know that because life is what it is, I'll continue to lose more people who are dear to me, and I've got to learn how to navigate that in order to protect and preserve my holistic wellbeing.
It's hard going back to the house that I grew up in. Hell, the house that you grew up in. I still think that you're there somewhere. Maybe in some strange way, you are. My stomach tightens and my skin crawls for just a second after walking inside, like I'm not supposed to be there. Like I'm a guest. Because you're gone that house feels so foreign. It's a lot less like home these days.
I've thought about this letter off and on and avoided writing it, not because I didn't know what to say, but because I was afraid to bring those thoughts to life and resurface all of the good and bad in the catacombs of my memory. I want to say that I love you and I miss you. I want to say that despite being frustrated with you in your last years here in this plane of existence, I still wish that you were around.
You could be an extremely difficult person, Dad. You were stubborn and viewed your opinions as absolutes. You hated several of my friends growing up and treated them badly for no reason. You were seemingly cruel and disrespectful to my mom as you became weaker and she carried you on her shoulders both metaphorically and physically. These things really upset me, Dad.
Despite all our best efforts, we were never a normal or traditional family. It was our biology that wouldn't allow it. I would be lying if I said I didn't have to travel down the road to acceptance to arrive at this fact - that we were unconventional. But as I got older, I realized every family unit has its flaws and its idiosyncratic color that paints its own beautiful, troubled picture. I began to realize that the concept of normal actually resided in varied shades of grey, and that is what true beauty is. Sometimes our family's normal was darker, and other times it was lighter. That seems normal to me.
You favored predictability and routine, and got upset when that was disrupted. As a teenager I learned to embrace change, spontaneity, and the beautiful frivolity that life hands us because of your manner. Now, as an adult, I notice my own rigidness, and curmudgeonly ways, but I try to keep myself in check. I'm realizing that I need to embrace all of these things as gifts that you instilled in me. You taught me rigidity so I would learn to bend. You taught me skepticism so that I could see the best in people, and you taught me that a strong back was just as valuable as a strong mind. I'm doing my best to be better than I was yesterday. Sometimes I'm good at it, most times I fumble, and that's okay. That's what you taught me throughout the 37 years we had together.
You were there for so many of my favorite memories. Camping and fishing, teaching me to cast with my toy fishing pole at Georgetown Lake. Going to high school basketball games together, just the 2 of us, to cheer on the Copperheads in our usual spot. The smell of of the popcorn in a gym takes me back to those beautiful, fleeting moments. I remember how gentle you were when you would wake me up for school in the mornings. God, I miss that. I remember you coming to my college graduation. I drove you and Mom to and from Missoula all in the same day, because it meant so much to me that you were there.
And now I think of my life moving forward and I think of experiencing the rest of my adult life without you there. There will always be a small emptiness despite whatever joy is in store. I'm grateful for everything that you were in my life. As I move along, hurling toward the end of my mortality, I find comfort in the knowledge that a little bit of you continues on through me. All of the best in me was because of you. I love you so much, and I miss you.
Love,LeRoy
Forever Feels Like An Eternity.
2 years ago today I lost my dad. 2 years and 3 days ago I had to make the most difficult decision in my life. He passed away May 11, 2020 at 8:30pm. I miss my dad every single day. People say that a lot when they lose someone close to them. It's become a cliché, and with good reason, but in this instance it is absolutely true. I wrote a letter to my dad a while back. The following is that letter.
Dad,
I've thought about you a lot since you've been gone, and sometimes I don't think about you at all. It's not out of a lack of care, or a disregard. It's because I know somehow I've got to keep moving forward. I know that because life is what it is, I'll continue to lose more people who are dear to me, and I've got to learn how to navigate that in order to protect and preserve my holistic wellbeing.
It's hard going back to the house that I grew up in. Hell, the house that you grew up in. I still think that you're there somewhere. Maybe in some strange way, you are. My stomach tightens and my skin crawls for just a second after walking inside, like I'm not supposed to be there. Like I'm a guest. Because you're gone that house feels so foreign. It's a lot less like home these days.
I've thought about this letter off and on and avoided writing it, not because I didn't know what to say, but because I was afraid to bring those thoughts to life and resurface all of the good and bad in the catacombs of my memory. I want to say that I love you and I miss you. I want to say that despite being frustrated with you in your last years here in this plane of existence, I still wish that you were around.
You could be an extremely difficult person, Dad. You were stubborn and viewed your opinions as absolutes. You hated several of my friends growing up and treated them badly for no reason. You were seemingly cruel and disrespectful to my mom as you became weaker and she carried you on her shoulders both metaphorically and physically. These things really upset me, Dad.
Despite all our best efforts, we were never a normal or traditional family. It was our biology that wouldn't allow it. I would be lying if I said I didn't have to travel down the road to acceptance to arrive at this fact - that we were unconventional. But as I got older, I realized every family unit has its flaws and its idiosyncratic color that paints its own beautiful, troubled picture. I began to realize that the concept of normal actually resided in varied shades of grey, and that is what true beauty is. Sometimes our family's normal was darker, and other times it was lighter. That seems normal to me.
You favored predictability and routine, and got upset when that was disrupted. As a teenager I learned to embrace change, spontaneity, and the beautiful frivolity that life hands us because of your manner. Now, as an adult, I notice my own rigidness, and curmudgeonly ways, but I try to keep myself in check. I'm realizing that I need to embrace all of these things as gifts that you instilled in me. You taught me rigidity so I would learn to bend. You taught me skepticism so that I could see the best in people, and you taught me that a strong back was just as valuable as a strong mind. I'm doing my best to be better than I was yesterday. Sometimes I'm good at it, most times I fumble, and that's okay. That's what you taught me throughout the 37 years we had together.
You were there for so many of my favorite memories. Camping and fishing, teaching me to cast with my toy fishing pole at Georgetown Lake. Going to high school basketball games together, just the 2 of us, to cheer on the Copperheads in our usual spot. The smell of of the popcorn in a gym takes me back to those beautiful, fleeting moments. I remember how gentle you were when you would wake me up for school in the mornings. God, I miss that. I remember you coming to my college graduation. I drove you and Mom to and from Missoula all in the same day, because it meant so much to me that you were there.
And now I think of my life moving forward and I think of experiencing the rest of my adult life without you there. There will always be a small emptiness despite whatever joy is in store. I'm grateful for everything that you were in my life. As I move along, hurling toward the end of my mortality, I find comfort in the knowledge that a little bit of you continues on through me. All of the best in me was because of you. I love you so much, and I miss you.
Love,
LeRoy
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