Without warning

There was never a “terminal” diagnosis, a call to hospice, a last good-bye – he died and my heart crumbled. While I know that I will never “get over” his death – I wonder if it will always hurt this badly. His coat hangs in my closet, his pictures hang on my walls – I hang on his last words.

My parents divorced when I was 12 and as many children do, my siblings and I lived with our mom visiting Daddy every other weekend and every Wednesday. 3 years later my mom remarries – we move to Maryland for a brief period then back to the south to the big D – Dallas. Daddy visited Dallas here and there – we went to Louisiana to do the same. He even stayed with us once while mom and Mike headed to the East coast for a vacation.

While there were good times, we still had our differences –he always wanted nothing but the best for me but I was too busy learning my own lessons in my own time. I was the first born – the one to set the example – the one to pave the way – the one who was responsible for his grey hair (at least that is what he said).

He was often my sounding board – my shoulder to lean on – my level head (I don’t always have one, you know?) He was so incredibly proud of me – at times in total disbelief that I had come so far (thanks for the confidence Dad!).

I feel cheated, I know that sounds selfish but I had so much more to say and do with him. I wasn’t ready for the last Christmas or his last birthday dinner; for our last phone conversation or our last embrace. While I know that I would have never been ready for any of that… I just wish that life was easier on days like today – only to be changed by his life having been longer.

Any Questions?