Missing My Daddy

I'm missing my dad tonight. I've been wrapping Christmas presents and it's really tough to think about spending the holidays without him. Not that we see him every Christmas, but just knowing he's not there is so sad. It's strange to have my mom answer the phone every time I call home. It was always him. I can't roll my eyes at his jokes or get frustrated at hearing the same story for the second time in a month. I miss Christmas shopping for him. I loved to pick out books that he would love . . . and hope he'd let me borrow them after he had read them. I was going through the digital camera tonight and deleting a bunch of old pictures. He wasn't in many, but seeing Quinn holding onto his walker at his birthday party made me think about that day, what I will always think of as the last day. It was the last day he was here, the last day he was going to live forever, the last day I could convince myself he would see Quinn celebrate another birthday, the last day I ever got mad at him. I hate that I wasn't a better daughter. I hate that I didn't tell him every single day that I loved him and was proud of him and liked the parts of me that were most like him. I hope he watches Quinn dance and play his banjo. I hope he sees me reading the books he gave me. I hope he knows that I want him here this year. I hope he laughs every time I tell one of his jokes, use one of his illogical turns of phrase. I hope he's proud of me and Trish and how we treat Mom. I hope he understands that we argue because we want what's best for her. I hope he's watching and is willing to pull a few strings with the other Big Guy to make it all okay. I hope he understands that there are moments when I don't think about him at all. Tonight just doesn't happen to have any of them.