Father’s Day can kinda suck.

My father is dead.  This is not “new” news.  He has been dead for almost 27 years.  You would think that with such a long time since his passing that this “holiday” would not hurt as much.  I think the pain doesn’t ever go away, it simply changes.

I was 6 years old when my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer.  He was 39 or so at the time.  Fast forward, I am currently 37 and my oldest daughter is 6 1/2.  Things are starting to feel real around here.  I look at her and I can’t help but be reminded on how young and little I was when the crap started to hit the fan, if you will.  I now see how young he was and how scared he must have been.
He lived with the cancer for four years.  He was a hell of a fighter and was bound and determined to live to walk me down the aisle.  Needless to say, he didn’t get to.  I was 10, he was 43.  My sister was 19.  My brother was 17.  My mom was 43.  All of us too darn young for any of this.
This year seems to have effected me especially more so since his birthday is tomorrow.  He would have been 70.  He has missed so much.  So many weddings, births and birthdays.  Grandchildren.  Great-Grandchild.  So much life.
Yet with him gone for so long, I can still feel his presence.  I feel him right now saying “Why the hell are you writing such a sappy post, Angie?”  “Don’t you have better things to do?”  He left my life too early to really sit me down for those life lessons that I see blasted all over the internets this past weekend.  But he is here and not here to give me that little shot in the arm and boost of confidence I need when I might not always have it.
I miss him so much.
Hug your parents.  Be fully present in the lives of your children. Life is way too short.
My daddy and me – 1983