Dear Dad

Michael turns one today. I wish you were here to see him. Every one tells me that he takes after his dad, but I know he doesn't. He looks exactly like you do. Even has your eyes, too.

Yesterday, while I was finishing up on the party preps, little Kayla came running into the kitchen with a picture. It was of you and me, at my middle school graduation ceremony, laughing mid-shot because Andy ran in trying to get into the picture and ended up slipping on the puddle right in front of us. She wanted to know if you'd be coming to the party too. I had to take a minute to think, Daddy. Kayla is four and doesn't understand so many things. I didn't know what to say.

Mama came over a few days before to help. She's coping, Dad, but that's all she seems to be. Coping. Sometimes, before I moved out of home, I catch her crying when she thinks we're all asleep. I'm always careful to stay quiet. It's not something I'm proud of but I don't ever know what to say at times like that. You know that.

I miss you, Dad. A lot. Time doesn't heal, no it doesn't. It just teaches you to build yourself around the hurt that will never quite truly go away. I miss you, and I miss being your little girl again. I wish you could see my kids, get a chance to have met Harry, watched me graduate even. I wish you were still here, if only for just a moment more.

I miss you. So much.