Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I was at work the moment you were taken from this earth. Ironically enough, I was employed at a record store the day my music died. I got a page over the PA, and when I got downstairs Uncle Lonnie was standing at the register. It was weird, and when I said hello and asked him what he was doing there, he just said, "You've gotta come home now." That same week, we'd visited Nana in the hospital, so I thought God had taken her instead. But as we were walking through the parking lot, he didn't say a word. I started to feel like maybe something else was going on, and so I asked him, "Hey, is my Mom alright?"

"Yea, your Mom's alright."

My next instinct was to ask if you were ok too. And I can only imagine what was going through Uncle Lonnie's head..."...please don't say it, please don't ask about your Dad...."

I thought it, I really did. I thought, "Is my Dad ok?" But I didn't say it out loud, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Maybe you were telling me not to. Maybe you were telling me not to ask him. You always were the only one who could keep me from opening my damn mouth.

We pulled up in front of our house and there were all these cars on the street. This is where everything becomes surreal. I saw a million cars parked outside, and I kept scanning the block for your truck, but it wasn't there. As soon as I didn't see it, I knew something was wrong. But in my fairytale world, I thought I'd walk through the front door and see you standing there. And you'd have a really good explanation as to why the whole family was over, and why your car wasn't parked outside like everyone else's.

But you weren't there, you weren't there ever again. And all the cars outside were there mourning our loss. I don't know about everyone else who was there that night, but I still mourn that loss. Most days. And even in my sleep. I find myself happy, but it's hard not to think about you.

I hurried inside and left Uncle Lonnie. The first person I saw was Rose. She looked at me, she looked down at the floor, and she cried. Everyone was just staring at me as I walked through the living room. And when I met Mom in the kitchen, she couldn't look at me either. There were a hundred faces there, but no one was saying a word, everyone was just crying. I looked at Mom and I said, "What?? What is it?!?..."

And that's when life changed forever.

"Lor, Dad was killed in an accident at work today..."

I heard her, but I didn't hear her. It was like I was a little kid again and my brain couldn't comprehend what she was telling me. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of a world without you. My soul couldn't keep me from falling, and I collapsed. Everything went numb and I fell to my knees. I remember someone lifting me up off the floor, but part of me is still lying there in the kitchen, waiting for you to get home from work. I'm sorry that I wasn't around more in those last few months. I'm sorry that I was out getting wasted with my friends while you were at home being a good Dad.

I'm so

so

sorry.

I'm ashamed, and I'm sorry. Maybe I wouldn't miss you so much if I'd acted like the daughter you deserved.

I don't remember what happened over the next few hours, I don't even remember the next year or so, to tell you the truth. But a few days later, someone had to go to the Cook County coroner's office to pick up the belongings that were in your pockets the day Heaven called you Home. I was elected. They warned me that sometimes "in situations like this" your belongings might be a little messy. And I imagined what a morbid scenario I could have been walking into. But I wouldn't have cared if your wallet was stained with what just couldn't be your blood, Dad. I wouldn't have cared if the stick of Carmex you kept in your pocket somehow indicated how much pain you felt in the split second that would steal you away. I wanted to do it anyway. I knew that I could. So I stepped from the waiting room into the medical examiner's office, I looked at the man through the glass, and I didn't know what to say.

"Name?" he asked.

I didn't know if he meant my name or yours. So I gave him our name, I gave him the last name that you'd given me. And I felt proud. I spelled it for him, slowly, with no tears, and with as much dignity as you would have. Did you see me that day? Were you there? Are you here right now, Dad? I miss you. I miss you so much. And I know that people say I'm supposed to feel better as time goes by, but it never goes away. I still always miss you, no matter how old I get.

Remember how whenever a long funeral procession would drive past, you'd never get pissed at how long you had to wait for them all? And instead you'd just smile and say, "Man, a lotta people must have loved that guy." That was your funeral, Dad! There were so many cars, you stopped traffic for a good half hour! And all day there was a line waiting at your closed casket, I didn't even know half the people there. It was just like you said, a whole lot of people loved you.

I used to have these dreams that you'd sneak over to the house to visit us again. And you'd tell us not to be so sad, that you just had to go away for a while, and that you'd come back when you could. Sometimes it was something weird, like you were abducted by aliens or something. And other times it was because you were on secret missions or the mafia had kidnapped you, or something like that. But then one time, I dreamt that I was at the grocery store, over by the pharmacy, and you came peeking around the corner. You looked at me and smiled, and all of the sudden you were standing right there next to the Tylenol. And I was so shocked to see you, it was like I knew you weren't supposed to be there. And I didn't want you to leave again, I wanted to stay there in the grocery store with you for as long as I could, and I got all frantic trying to think of ways to keep you there.

"Dad, what are you doing here??"

But you didn't say anything, you just reached out and held my hand. It was the very hand that I'd held as a little girl, and it felt exactly the same. It was so real, Dad! It was like it wasn't a dream at all. It was your hand, and I was holding it, and it felt exactly the same. It was like you were really there, and I could remember your hands just as they were. I remembered exactly what it felt like in mine, crossing the street, walking across the church parking lot, at the pumpkin patch on Halloween...it was that very same hand.

Sometimes I think our dreams are your way of paying us a visit. Is it against the rules for you to pay us a visit like that? I think it might be, but I think you might do it anyway.

A few months ago one of your friends emailed me. Mom gave him my email address. It was weird though, weird in a cool way, but it was almost like he was looking to me for a little piece of you. I hope I helped him find that little piece of reflection, but I don't know. He told me stories about the band, and I guess he was one of the guys who smoked cigars with you the night I was born. When I emailed him back, I tried to say everything just right because I didn't want to make you look bad. But I didn't really know what to say, and I didn't know what you'd want me to say. So I just tried to show him that I'm intelligent, that I'm loyal, that I'm competent, and that I'm respectable (I didn't swear once). Not for my sake, but for yours. I wanted to show him what a good job you did, I hope I did alright.

Mark still has the mini bikes and go carts that you guys used to ride. AND he just finished rebuilding your truck. He rebuilt the whole thing all by himself. We all gathered in the garage when he started it up for the first time, and you should have heard it, Dad! He put this hot rod engine in there, and it sounds awesome. I'm pretty sure you'd love it. And Leah is engaged! Her fiance's name is Phil, and I'm pretty sure you'd love him too. He takes care of her. I think she's having Grampa walk her down the aisle, and I hope you get a little glimpse of the whole thing from Upstairs. Carissa is in school and wants to be an English teacher. The first tattoo she got was one in memory of you. She's turned out more like Mom than any of the rest of us, and she has a boyfriend who drives her around in this old white limo. It's a little rusty, but it's a real limo that he drives around town, and for some reason I think you'd kinda dig it.

I'm 27 now. I don't use drugs, and I haven't even smoked pot since I was 19. I do like to drink expensive vodka, but I'm definitely not an alcoholic. And I don't smoke in front of Mom, the same way you didn't. I know you were scared to fly, but I was a flight attendant for 2 years and there's really nothing to be afraid of. I'm going back to school full time in the fall, and I don't have any babies yet, but someday I'd like some. 2 or 3 boys maybe, and one girl named Annelise Isabella. Annelise is Danish, Isabella, Italian. And I know I'm neither, but you know how I do. I want her to be the youngest so she has big brothers to keep an eye on her.

I wish I knew what you'd think of me if you were sitting here right now. I don't know if I'm different or the same, I don't know if you'd approve of my decisions, I don't know if I've changed because you're not here, and I don't know if you'd be proud of who I am or disappointed in what I've become. I don't even know if you know that I'm 27. I'm always thinking about you though, the other day I downloaded some Peter Frampton and thought of you. I'm always trying to figure out what you'd tell me if you were here, what advice you'd give, or even just what you'd say about the weather or the war. I wonder if you'd like my friends, I wonder if you'd encourage me to stay in New York or tell me to go back to Chicago, I wonder if you'd still like orange juice so much or if you'd ever call my cell phone...and I wonder if you wish you were still here the same way we do. Most of the time, I just wish I could talk to you. Sometimes I forget how long it's been since you've been gone; sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels like an eternity. I guess all I'd like you to know is that I take everything you taught me and I carry it with me every day. We all do. I apply the character you instilled in me to everything I do, and when someone says they like me, it really just means they like you.

So thanks. Thanks for being a good man. Thanks for being an even better Father. Thanks for sharing with me the power of music and guiding my fingers over the strings of a guitar. Thanks for educating us by virtue of integrity and respect. Thanks for teaching every kid on the block how to ride a bike when their own Dad's were too busy. Thanks for showing us that money is nothing and happiness is everything. Thanks for leaving us all with the best memories a childhood could ask for. We love you. We miss you. See you soon.



Lori



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Just an aside here - My Dad was awesome and he was around until I was 20. Therefore, I've never considered myself one of those chicks with a "Daddy complex," and I really have no problem talking objectively about my Dad at all. What I do seem to have a problem with is discussing my feelings about the whole thing, so it was cool to do this. I wrote it quite a while ago, but felt weird about posting it anywhere...but then I figured fuck it, there are a lot of people in my life who don't know much about my past and might be interested in reading a little something like this. So I did a little editing to make it current, and voila. ;)