Dear Dad,
I wanted to wish you the happiest of birthdays today. After 10 years of spending this day wrestling with the should haves, would haves and if only I had knowns, it seems that I’ve run out of ways to say that I miss you. I miss you feels too simple, too unoriginal and too worn out for what I should have said and would have said, if only I had known. It feels more honest to say that you are missing from me. Because that’s how I feel on birthdays. That’s how I feel on Christmases, Father’s Day and Wednesdays. You are missing from me. From us. From today.
In 10 years, I can’t tell you how many heart-flooding thoughts of gratitude have unexpectedly found their way into my heart. These moments were almost always insignificant, at least they would be to you, at least they were to me then. But I want you to know that they mattered. They mattered to me. What may have seemed trivial at the time, feels like the very definition of magnitude now.
The conversations you likely wouldn’t recall, the unreasonable curfews we’d laugh about now, the times we fell short of the expectations we had for one another, the dinners you made it home for, the spelling bees and track meets you showed up for, they mattered to me. They made me. And I wish I had words for how I wish I knew then what I know now—that these moments were the foundational building blocks of the person you hoped I’d become one day.
Thank you for…
…encouraging me to be an includer and inviter because I learned the meaning of “everybody, always.”
…making me write down in words what I wanted in a future husband because I learned how to hold myself in high regard.
…enforcing rules on how we spent our time and who we spent our time with because I learned how to guard my heart.
…never working on Sundays because I learned to prioritize people, including myself, over achievement, performance and to-do lists.
…being willing to share the mistakes that haunted you and the fears that kept you up at night because I learned that vulnerability is always the way forward.
…staying with Mom, no matter what was hard or impossible or uphill, because I learned that love is a commitment, not a feeling, and it’s always worth staying for.
…believing that nothing was beyond my reach because I learned that far too many people will underestimate me and I shouldn’t be one of them.
…vocalizing your thoughts about who we brought home, because in searching for a man who met your expectations, I learned to set my own expectations.
…living a life intentionally headed toward godliness because I learned that faith, hope, grace and a life worth having demand intention.
…writing this poem because I learned that beginnings hurt, middles are hard, but there is so much hope to be found in an ending.
…having a contagious enthusiasm for life because I learned that there is so much life to be lived in the “in between.”
…praying with us every night before bed because I learned there’s freedom in surrender, power in persistence, and answers in the waiting.
I’ve run out of ways to say that I miss you, Dad. So on a day that’s hard, on a day that hurts, this year, this birthday, I won’t spend it making up a world that you’re still very much a part of. I won’t drown myself in should haves, would haves or if onlys. Instead I’ll show up to what I have—this present moment. Today. This life. I will show up to a day that’s hard and hurts with a heart full of unquestionable, unwavering gratitude. I’m grateful for what was, I’m grateful for what is and I’m so very grateful for what will be. And I’m so very thankful that that’s the way you insisted I lived my life. It has made all of the difference. You have made all of the difference. To me. To us.
Love,
Me