Anyway, there is this series of books by Dean Koontz about a character named Odd Thomas. I bought Dad a copy of the first book for Christmas one year, a copy I probably still have, and he was so happy because it was the perfect gift for him. He LOVED it! It’s one of my favorites as well. The irony that it is about a man who can see and communicate with dead people is not lost on me, either.

The year Dad died, the second book came out, entitled Forever Odd. He would have loved it too. Dean Koontz was always one of his favorite writers, along with Louis L’Amour. One of my clearest memories of my dad is seeing him read a book by Koontz while stretched out on the couch. We would both spend hours in the same room, just reading, and then we’d talk about our books to each other and swap when we were done. I can’t remember a single time that Dad ever told me I was too young or too silly for a book. If I put it down, he didn’t say a word, just offered me another one.

I never realized what a big impact he had on my love for reading. My mother helped teach me how to read when I was three (going on four) and I’ve always been grateful. (Considering that she wasn’t entirely fluent in English at the time, I consider it quite the impressive feat!) I wish I could thank my father but I can thank my mother, so, thank you Mom!

I’m not sure what I was really going to write about. I lost my point in my tangent. I guess I really just wanted to say how much I thought about Dad today and how much I miss him. His birthday is in a month and for the first year since he died, I’ll be capable of going to his grave site to lay flowers…but I don’t think I’m ready. If I’ll ever be ready.

I don’t know. I’m going to bed. My heart hurts enough for one night.

There are certain things about my father I will always remember: the way he smiled at me when he was having one of his good days, the way he saved up money to grill choice cuts of meat as a special treat… the way he always treated me like an equal, no matter how old I was or what I had done. There’s more, of course, but it seems that for the moment, these are what stand out.

To me, Dad was always like an overgrown kid. He knew what made kids happy and even when he was exhausted or the fibro had taken over his body, he did what he could to enjoy time with them. In particular, me. I wonder if he knew he wouldn’t live very long. He did always seem to act like he was going to have a short lease on life and tried to pack as many lessons into every moment with me as he did fun. He always shared stories about his childhood and his rowdy teenage years, repeating them as often as I asked, as if he knew that I would someday cling to those stories as best as possible so I could one day pass them on to my own children.

He was also never afraid of being candid with me. He was proud of knowing poetry and I can’t hear or speak of Robert Frost without Dad flashing through my mind. He loved to tinker with computers and write music and play guitar. When I think of him, I remember camping trips in Huntsville and grilling and hiking. I remember fishing in the early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night. I remember squealing because I caught my first fish and Dad understanding why I was so excited and Dad complimenting me on what I’d learned and Dad telling me he was proud of me.

I haven’t been fishing since he died…

There were bad moments. Terrible moments. Moments that used to haunt my dreams and be the source of nightmares for years. And yet, for the sake of love and his memory, I shove those moments away, under the mental clutter, so that I can love him fully. So that I can remember his laugh and his stories and most of all, his love. What good would grudges do against a dead man who, in the end, truly loved his daughter?

I miss him every day. Even though the pain has ebbed and it no longer pierces me to talk of him, the ache is there. I see a woman with her daddy and my heart weeps for my own father for whom, I too, was a princess. I’ll always love him and I hope to do justice to his memory. I hope he knows that, somehow.

I feel like I can’t do justice to any of those topics because my heart is torn in so many directions today. I am full of joy and pride in Joshua but pain and grief for my father, who would love to see his one and only grandchild.

I did call my Papi today and he loved it. I texted my stepdad (given our relationship and my feelings about Father’s Day in general, this seemed to be best). I will call my paternal grandfather tomorrow, when Noah is awake. I even managed to sign my father-in-law’s card when we spent time over there yesterday. I didn’t tear up once today, at least not until this entry.

It’s so strange, to feel such heartbreak and contentment simultaneously. I hope my husband understands why I need to dedicate this post to two men instead of one…and I hope he knows how special he is to Noah and me. We couldn’t ask for anyone better.

Happy Father’s Day, my dear Joshua…you are my heart and my soul mate.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I’ll always love you.