Dad died 18 years ago today. Eighteen years is a lifetime. A journey into adulthood. There has not been a single day in these past 18 years that I haven’t thought about him.
I know I disappointed him a lot when I was a young man. It’s taken me 18 years to learn that he knew it was a part of my growing up and figuring out this life. He pulled me out of the proverbial ditch more times than he probably should have. He let me sit in the ditch too, when he knew I needed to sit in the ditch.
I still miss him as much as the day he left us. I still wish I could see him or call him and ask him the questions that could help me navigate life and fatherhood.
“Your dad has given you everything that you will ever need. Now God needs him.” That’s what my counselor told me when I yelled at her because I was angry at God for taking my dad too soon.
Very often I look up to the stars in the early morning and I can sense him with me. I try very hard and as best as I can. I like to think that he’s proud of me.
His oldest granddaughter is 18 years old now. He got to know her for her first five months of life. He never got to meet Mara. He’d love the hell out of her. He’d love being around them both and watching them grow, just like I do.
Eighteen years is a lifetime. It’s a long time, but it’s also just a wink from a star in the sky.
And he let your friends pull you out of the ditch at times… and he was a heck of a role model for those of us that needed a father figure around. Thanks for sharing him with me.