Dear Dad

Dad,

I’m missing you something fierce today.

And gol dangit I want to tell you how the other day while walking in the paint section at Menards, I started crying when “Good Day Sunshine” came on because you liked The Beatles and it made me think of you, but it was anything but a good day.

And sometimes I want to say I’m angry at you because you have no idea how hard it is watching my kids grieve losing you in this way and sometimes I can’t do anything to make them feel better and I don’t know what to say to them because nothing is going to bring you back.

I want to tell you how every season of the year makes me think of you and particularly now when the leaves start changing color and the nights get colder. Because it meant time for you to start chopping wood and bringing it in for the wood stove. It makes me think of the picture you gave me of the maple in our front yard. I think of the conversation we had about how even though we’d lost huge portions of that tree in summer storms and even though every year the tree changes, it is beautiful. And you told me how I was like that tree. Broken, ever-changing, but beautiful.

I want to tell you how sad it makes me feel when I look in your eyes and all I see is searching and I wonder if you know it’s me.I want to tell you how frustrating and helpless it feels when I look in your eyes or I hear you try to speak and I want so bad to understand you; to help you feel understood. But I just can’t

I wish you were here so I could tell you how hard this week has been, how hard the past couple months have been, how hard the past couple of years have been. I wish you were here to tell me that even though I may not understand it, things will be okay.

While I looked for the picture of the maple tree, I found this email you sent not long before Grandpa Scott died. You mention your old friend Pat and you talk about your good friend Jim and just that alone makes me miss you. And then, you talk about Grandpa and it terrifies me the foreshadowing of your email.

“I visited Dad yesterday after visiting someone at Luther. He was already in bed. We talked for a few minutes. He was pretty clear. He said he wasn’t in any pain, but that he was tired… I think it’s fine to visit, but figure on short visits. He just doesn’t seem to have the stamina or interest levels.”

Dad, I want to tell you how I’m terrified that this will be my fate too. Because Grandpa had Parkinson’s, and now you have dementia and I’m so scared that this will happen to me and I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to leave this world that way.

You go on to write,

“One thing that is common in people who are dying is that they begin to withdraw into themselves. This is often mistaken for depression, self-centeredness or something “wrong”, but it is actually pretty normal. It is basically withdrawing from life in preparation for death. Makes sense when you think about it, but it’s hard to watch and experience.”

Dad, I want to tell you how sorry I am that you had to walk that road with Grandpa and Grandma and I’m sorry I didn’t understand at the time. I want to tell you how extremely difficult it has been being on this same road now with you; now understanding how hard that must have been for you.

Every day I grieve you slipping away. Every day I think that nothing could feel worse than missing you the way I do when I look in your eyes. And every day I think how much worse it will feel when I can’t hold your hand or look in your eyes anymore.

You’re right, what’s happening to you now makes sense when you think about it. You are preparing to die. And all I keep praying is for you to not be in pain and for God to grant you his peace. But you're also right that this is so dang hard to watch and experience. On an emotional level I don’t want it to make sense, I don’t want to be praying for Him to take you so you aren’t in pain and are at peace. I want you here sitting across from me, looking me in the eye, calling me by name and telling me it will be okay.