Father's Day #2Hi Babe,
We just endured our second father's day without the most important member of our family. On the surface, the day was just fine. But the emptiness was pretty much unbearable. If you had been here, you could have seen your daughter's first dance recital--perhaps the cutest thing ever, all those little girls (19 of them) in tutus and tap shoes, approximating the routine. We laughed, we cried--and in 4 minutes, it was over. You would have been so proud of her, and it would have meant so much to have you there, by my side, sharing the knowledge that our little girl is clearly superior to every other child in the universe.
Your lovely aunt and uncle made the long drive to be there, and took us all out to dinner between performances. It was generous and caring of them, and we are so lucky to have *one* small part of your family that really seems to understand what family means, and how to help us keep going without you.
Your daughter is four-and-a-half going on 14 now, and she really needs you. She has your appreciation for cars--she can recognize a Honda Element, a Subaru WRX, and umpteen other cars, and correctly attribute them to the folks we know who drive one. She is fascinated by insects, the moon, and gardening (god help me!) and she loves to cook. If you were here, you could cook with her. And snuggle with her--she's still a very snuggly girl. And you could give her that steady, accepting love that you provided so well--the kind I'm desperately afraid that I don't know how to give. She's a beautiful, amazing, quirky, funny girl, and it breaks my heart to have her miss out on knowing you, and sharing with you all the things that would bring both of you such delight.
I guess what I'm trying to say is we miss you. We love you. We think of you, talk of you, and celebrate you always. But it's just not enough, is it.
Labels: cancer widow