On this day in 2006 I had been released from the psychiatric hospital and was in an intensive group day therapy program that was six weeks long. Our assignment was to write a letter to a loved one, and we were given a list of writing prompts that must be included. Everyone in the class wrote their letter to a loved one who had passed away. This is my letter. I have excluded portions of the letter for personal reasons.
06/13/2006
Dear Daddy,
You've already been gone 5 days -- how can that be possible? I still haven't stopped by the funeral home to sign the cremation order - not that they need my signature to proceed, but they prefer that we all sign.
Soon, very soon, we'll have to decide what to do with your ashes. I'd like to scatter them but where? I thought about burying them deep below the historical marker on your Grace Chapel, or scatter them on the back of the property. God knows your heart and soul was in that place.
I remember the way you told jokes. Wow - you could really tell 'em! Remember the one where different people would stand up and say a number? "Some can tell 'em, some can't!"
I remember when we went on road trips every summer, 3 or 4 weeks, because you'd combine your vacation days with July 4th holiday. I got tired of having my birthday in a different state every year, but as a young adult I finally realized how special that was. You and Mother got us to the 48 contiguous states as you planned, and you made history live for me -- what a gift!
The clearest memory I have of you is at the campsite in Dumas after witnessing the two accidents. We were all "slap-happy," you cracked a joke, and I spewed milk all over you. It was rolling down your balding head and dripping off that nose and you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. I wish I had more memories like that.
I always wanted to tell you that I admired your quick wit. I wish I had told you that the best and the worst of me came from you. I wish you had told me why your marriage to my mother went so awry -- your part in it, not hers. You would always start sentences with "Your mother..." I wish I had known why you two went into yelling fits every night -- all I know is that I have to keep peace at all costs...did I try to do that even then?
I felt the most love from you when you set your life aside for me after I broke my foot so badly and you ferried me to and from work and saw to it that I had transportation whenever and wherever I needed. And you did that for almost a year. You were never once late.
I wish I had gotten to know the man you became: Chaplain Catfish, a generous man who helped people and turned lives around. I accept now that you couldn't be the perfect father or the perfect husband or the perfect pastor, because you're human and a sinner just like the rest of us. I also understand that you weren't the man you wanted to be, either, but you kept trying, kept praying, kept doing your part.
The last time I saw you, you were dying, but you could hear me, I know you could, 'cause you squeezed my hand when I asked you to. I asked your forgiveness for abandoning you the last weeks of your life and for keeping us estranged for so many years. I told you I forgave you for everything you did against me and my mother, real, exaggerated, or imagined on our part. I told you I'd miss you, I held your hand some more. I lay my head on your bed and sang to you for almost 2 hours, I think. You couldn't squeeze my hand anymore. Then you were surrounded by family and friends when you stopped breathing and your heart stopped beating at 4:53 p.m. on Thursday, June 8. When I knew you were gone, I wondered if you were seeing Mother again, and if God had to give you mansions on opposite sides of Heaven.
At your funeral I took your hand and kissed your forehead, and you were so cold. I became a little child again, crying for her daddy. And since you've been gone, I've felt an ache that caught me by surprise. I miss your laugh, and the love you showed for Sharon, and the fire in your eyes when you came up with another plan to make millions and save the world.
When I think of you now it's with happiness that you gave yourself as a vessel for God's work. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I thank you for the times you were there for me. And most of all, I want you to know that I believe this world to be a better place because you lived.
Love,
your baby girl
Daddy, I remember you.
