Can you believe it’s been four years? And life just goes on. A lot of the time it feels totally normal, almost like you weren’t there, which is scary. I have been thinking about you a lot lately. We weren’t that close, and I regret that I never got to know you better. I’ve started to notice we seem to have coped with life the same way. And by that, I mean mostly just work and stay busy, you never could sit down for long. It’s not a good strategy and I think you realized that at the end. Life is too short and unexpected to stay angry and not be open with the people you love. I’m working on that.
One thing I’m glad that I got from you (and mom) is the love of the outdoors. You always looked the happiest hiking with the boy scouts or out running. And although running has not been my thing, I’ve even started to enjoy that a bit lately. It will never be as much as you and I will never be smiling and laughing as I run a half marathon, but I can do a mile on the beach.
Some of my favorite moments from my childhood are going on “runs” with you. And by that I really mean walking through the woods eating berries and picking flowers. I was happy when mom finally pointed out I didn’t actually want to run but instead just walk the trail. Our whole family put so many hours back there, I still try to walk it at least once a year to find a trillium for you.
One thing I miss the most was the excitement you had for my plans. At the time I said that was being a pastry chef. Really, I meant I just wanted to ice some cakes. You told me I would have my own T.V show one day. I never actually wanted that, but you actually believing that I could, was huge to me. And although I have not gone that route at all. Thank you for showing excitement for me and belief that I can really do whatever I want. I don’t have a lot of confidence and I am terrified of what I am doing. But when I think about giving up, I think about you. About how hard you worked to give us a good life, and about how quickly it can go, so I shouldn’t waste it.
Father's Day is in a week. Although we can't celebrate with you. I'll celebrate by remembering you, what you taught us, and trying to live the life you wanted for us.