Dear Dad,

Today it has been exactly 9 years since I said my final farewell to you.  By this point, though, I knew you were already long gone.  We had struggled through 48 long hours hoping, praying, wishing that somehow, some way, God would work a miracle and bring you back to us.  At about noon on Saturday, September 20, 1997, we made the painful decision to let you go.  I remember watching you as you kept on fighting, and we all took our turns saying goodbye, urging you to just let go, to stop trying to hang on.  True to your character, though, you waited until we took a break for dinner and had left the room, so that none of us would have to watch you pass away.  When we came back just an hour later, you were gone.  The room was so quiet, you were finally still.  And, oddly, at that moment, I had no grief.  No tears to cry.  We prayed together, and left.

A few weeks later, I was back in graduate school where the professor was commenting on a funeral she had just attended for a relative of hers.  She said, “You know, you can go through all the events of the visitation and the viewing, and the funeral and the graveside service, and you can say all the prayers and read all the verses in the Bible on comfort, but after that’s all over, there’s still a hole in your heart that can never be filled.”  And it’s true.  In some ways, it’s truer now than it was then.  Like when the Red Sox won the World Series…A moment we never were able to share.  And when both of my children were born…  I can only hope that someday when I get to heaven, God will give me a few minutes to introduce Trey & Crisana to their grandpa.  (by the way, I hope you and Grampa are working hard on that model railroad set in Grampa’s mansion…that will be the FIRST thing Trey will want to see!)

You would love Trey & Crisana.  I remember watching you and Taylor and just feeling the great bond you two shared.  I couldn’t wait to have you share that with my kids!  I am so happy you had special times together with Dan’s children, and that at least Taylor and Sarah have personal memories of you.  Trey reminds me so much of you at times.  You had such a way with people, putting them instantly at ease, yet making them feel valued and important, and Trey has that ability.  You were so musically talented, with your strong singing voice and piano “skills” that when I listen to Trey sing (even though it’s not always on pitch) he has such a pure, clear tone, I know he inherited some of that from you.  When Matt was working out in Ft. Worth, we would often drive by the airport and he would get so excited about seeing the big planes.  I told Matt that I had to start getting tissues out of the glove box for just that moment because it would always make me think, “I wish Dad was here to take Trey to the airport to look at planes like we used to do.”  I know that is something you two would have really enjoyed doing together.  In my mind’s eye, I have a picture of the two of you sitting on the hood of a car, looking up at the sky watching the airplanes land and take off.  I know it will never happen, but I cherish that image as much as if it was real.

As for Crisana, well, let’s just say you would be wrapped around her little finger!  She would have charmed you from the moment she opened those beautiful blue eyes and looked at you.  I can imagine the two of you taking walks together through the neighborhood and you just listening to her chatter on and on like it was the most interesting and stimulating conversation you ever had.  I can imagine you two playing tea parties together and enjoying picnics in the back yard of your house.  With her chubby legs and chubby cheeks, bangs, and round tummy, I KNOW she would remind you of me at that age!  She is a social butterfly, full of energy and sparkle, with a zest for life and all there is to do.  I know she would hold a special place in your heart, and you would be the love of her life (after her daddy of course), just like you were for me.

Nine years is not long enough to fully erase the pain, but the ache does ease with time.  I think about you so often, and though I do miss you, it’s hard not to be happy for you.  Knowing that you are healthy and whole, reunited with your parents and so many friends from across the years makes the pain of my loss much easier to bear.  You will always be with me in my heart and in the faces of my children, and I will always look forward to the day when I will see you again.

I love you, Dad.