Every. Day.

Hi Dad.

It’s been awhile.

I have a whole shpeal – is that how you spell it? Shpeal? You know what I mean, Dad. You’re a smart cookie. – about why I haven’t been around lately… I’m busy! The dogs! The (effing) cats! The HOUSE! The job.

But it doesn’t matter. Even if the excuses were good enough, it doesn’t matter.

Because today? Today is your day.

Today’s your birthday, Dad. And today, more than all the other days in the year (well, except maybe my birthday… and Christmas… and Thanksgiving… and that big football weekend when I lived in Pullman), you are on my mind and in my heart.

Because Dad? I really miss you.

I remember your jokes and your stories. The way you’d build a fort with the boys and have rubber band wars. I remember an email you sent me, terrified your sister was going to kill you or the dog (or both) when she discovered her tomato plants were destroyed.

I remember a lot about you, Dad. I remember every day. But mostly, I remember your love. I remember how much you cared about me and how you told me that, every time I saw you or talked to you. I remember that I really never got to see you or talk to you enough, but I remember you always tried.

Sometimes I’m afraid I don’t remember enough about you, Dad$ I’m scared I’ll forget you, slowly, a little bit at a time, as the years pass by. But I refuse to sit back and just let that happen. No sir, not on my watch. Especially on days like today. Your day.
I should probably go now, Dad, before I start to REALLY cry, but I just wanted to say I love you, miss you, and think about you. Every. Day.

(And if you think I’m exaggerating, you should talk to The Boy about it. He’ll tell you.)

(By the way, I really wish you could have met him.)


Your daughter.

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