happy birthday dadda


my dear dadda.

i will always save my last hug for you – i love you and i miss you. so much.

thank you for everything you’ve taught me – to throw a baseball, to shoot, to paint and sand and find a stud in a wall to hang a frame (ha ha). to stay curious. to tell the truth. to be observant. the value of a perfectly timed joke. how i should never judge anyone because i don’t know where they’ve come from. how important it is to love, everyday.

to the best man i know, happy birthday x

sorry dadda.

i can hear it in his voice. in the words he doesn’t say. one day to the next, a change on yesterday.

he thought i’d change my mind after hearing he disapproved. but i did it anyway.

reckless, selfish, expressive me.

i hate that i’ve disappointed you, dad. i didn’t know something so small would matter so much.

love you dad.

she lost her father. two nights ago, he passed away in his sleep. he was sick, but still, a shock. she didn’t get to say goodbye.

in his leaving, four children stayed behind. the youngest, 12. a boy growing up without a dad. without that one person to teach him and mould him into someone to be proud of. a man.

another friend grew up without her dad. he died in a car accident. lost too soon.

she and i once took a trip to the beach, on his anniversary, at night, to sit on the sand and watch the stars. they scattered his ashes in the ocean. he became part of the sand, no matter where she was, the beach kept him with her.

these friends of mine, going through life without that figure of strength and guidance.