Today marks six months that we've been without my dad and I still don't think I've fully grasped that his absence is permanent. I miss him and think about him every day. I miss his big bear hugs. I miss his phone calls to tell me something interesting or funny. I miss his stupid email forwards and his jokes that always embarrassed me. I miss hearing him tell me he's proud of me. I miss just knowing that he was there and I could count on him for anything. There are so many things over the last six months that I've wanted to tell him or have him be a part of and I know that need can never be satisfied. It's so hard to come to grips with the fact that that connection, in this world, is forever severed.
My only consolation is that I believe he is watching over us, keeping up with our comings and goings, and laughing with us at Wilder's antics. Even though he's not here to tell me, I know he is still so proud of me, of what Paul and I are making of our lives, and of the funny, smart little person his grandson is growing into. I also know that he would want us to not get bogged down in despair but to move forward with our lives, so that is what we are trying to do. The void he left will never be filled; we're just learning to live around it. 10-4, Daddy. We're going to be OK.