Just the Two of Us: A Letter to My Dad

**I started this post the day after my Daddy passed away and I've been adding thoughts to it ever since. Today, one month from the day he arrived in heaven, I feel that it's complete and ready to go out there for all the world to see. Thank you for your willingness to read the musings of a broken but mending heart...I love you all.**

January 10
It's only been one day and people are already asking how we're all doing or how are we holding up or some version of that question. And even as they ask it, they know as well as we do that we don't have an answer yet and that the answer we might give will change the next time the question is asked.

But I know that more than anyone else, you would want to know how we're doing.

So I suppose that's why I find myself here...blogging at 3am on the day after you took your last breath Daddy.

And first, let me just say how sneaky it was of you to take that last breath in the only thirty second window where you had ever been alone in your entire hospital stay. Mom was just outside the door checking on your saline bag because she knew you didn't like it when it ran dry. But I think you planned it that way.

And it was a good plan, Dad.

I keep reading the letter you wrote that you want Mr. Huey to read at your funeral.

It's beautiful and I can hear your voice each time I read it. And I guess in a way, this is my letter to you.

On the day you found out you were dying, you held Lauren and me by the hand and through teary eyes told us that you loved us and you were so proud of us.

What you may not have known or given yourself enough credit for is the fact that WE were proud of you. We are proud to be "Greg's girls" and we are proud to call you Daddy. We always will be.

You told us to go through life and try not to make any enemies. You told us no matter how good someone else treats you, treat them better.

Those are great words to live by and we will do our best to follow them. It was obvious by the countless number of family and friends and co-workers who came by the hospital to see you that it was just how you lived your life. What a testimony Dad...

And just like you said in your letter to us, we will be sure to tell your grandkids about you though I know that a lifetime wouldn't be long enough. That is probably the biggest thing that really breaks my heart - that you won't know your grandchildren in this life. We'll be sure to take them down to the river, because that was your favorite place to be. As a young adult, I always imagined what a fun paw-paw you would be. You would be a softy, of that I am sure. You wouldn't stand a chance. :)

While these last ten days were not at all what I expected when I packed my suitcase and boarded that airplane in Seattle on Christmas Eve, I couldn't be more thankful that I was able to be here to help you fight this battle all the way to the end...that I was able to walk you home. You will never ever know how much that meant to me.

I heard you say it many times while you were fighting these last five years, "No one walks in my shoes." And while that is true Daddy, you should know that you were never fighting alone. You were taking the heaviest brunt of it all, but we were fighting right along with you and wishing over and over again that we could take this pain and this burden from you (because I know you'd wish the same for us).

In fact, while in the Sunday School class that Derek's Dad was teaching the day before we went to the hospital, there was a question in our book that said,

"If you could switch places with one person for one day, who would it be?"

Though we didn't answer out loud, my answer was you. I wish I could have switched places with you so that you could have had one more perfect day of life - to be down at the camp on the river fishing and running lines, to hunt, to garden, to eat whatever you wanted, to have a fish fry, and to just enjoy a healthy life if for only that one day. I really did, Dad. But I know that even if it were possible you would not have let me do it because you wouldn't want me to suffer an ounce of what you were going through. You were always trying to protect us - another of the reasons you were such a great Daddy.

I keep asking myself if there was anything else I could have done - any question I could have asked the doctor, any cancer research I could have investigated, any prayer I could have prayed and I know that the answer to that is "no." But I keep asking...

I'm so sorry Daddy. I'm sorry that cancer found its way into your body. I'm sorry you had to be sick. I'm sorry that despite how hard you fought, cancer fought harder and spread faster. I'm sorry that your life ended so much sooner than any of us had planned. I'm sorry for the pain you felt. I'm sorry you had to leave us.

You were so brave and strong and tough from the very beginning to the very end. I'm so proud of you.

And I know that if it were up to you, you would have stayed. I want you to know that the best gift you could have left us with was putting your trust in Jesus (just a few short days before leaving this earth) to forgive you of your sins and to save your place in heaven where we know you are at perfect peace and we will see you again. That one decision is leaps and bounds the best thing you ever did for us and the best thing you ever did for yourself. And GG is so glad you wanted her in the room when you made that decision and spoke that prayer - thanks for letting her be a part of that Daddy, she will never forget it.

And because you made that decision, it made letting you go a little more bearable. Because I know that when you took your last breath, Jesus was there to meet you and take you home with Him. And while I knew that you were instantly in a better place, my heart was screaming "Come back!" And in that moment, the same Jesus that was taking you home was holding me at the very same time.

So how are we doing?

We miss you so much Daddy. I miss you. Mom misses you. Lauren misses you. Lexi is looking all over the house for you. Your brother and sister miss you. Jared and Zack and Josh miss you. Mr. Smitty misses you. And the list goes on.

But I think we're all doing okay, or at least we're getting there.

It doesn't seem possible that you are really gone. I miss you so much it hurts to breathe. I miss you so much that my lifetime of memories with you are hauntingly hard to think about...but they are the only thing my mind wanders to. I miss you so much that in just the day that you've been gone, I have dreamed about you and awakened with my heart pounding and my pulse racing. I keep dreaming that I can't find you...I am always in a long hallway and frantically searching every room for you but you aren't there. I just keep reminding myself that you are with Jesus...and with Granny and Paw-Paw and Mam-Maw and so many others that you love so much. I'm a little jealous of that.

I know these next few days are going to be incredibly difficult, but I'll be trying my best to keep making you proud. I'll try to be strong because you were strong. You taught me to always have a plan, and I'm going to do just that.

Thank you for being my Daddy. I'm forever grateful that I was your "Alissa Fred" and that I got to walk through this life with you and that I was able to be here to walk you home.