The other day I read through some of the letters I’ve written to you. For a second I considered not writing about my dad so much. Perhaps I should write something happy, lighter. It would be awful if you read these one day and thought, “Geez, mommy is a downer.”
What would be more awful is if I didn’t write to you with honesty about the season I am in.
Since my current season is a mix of sadness, disappointment and general feelings of “blah”, my writing tends to reflect those emotions.
The good news is writing helps me work through my grief.
The bad news is neither one of you have a say in what I write!

So here goes…

I was fortunate to grow up in a loving, stable home. My memories include raising bunnies, riding bikes on our dead end street and playing on the tire swing, just to name a few.

Hard things like neglect, abuse, or divorce were not a part of my childhood. We didn’t always have abundance, but I always felt loved and I always felt safe.

I grew up learning about God, feeling his presence and knowing He was always there for me. My parents and church leaders told me God was good and I believed them. My life experiences never gave me any reason to doubt God’s goodness or love.

All my grandparents passed away years before either of you were born. While their deaths saddened me for a time, I did not struggle with grief.

My grandparents were old.
Old people die.

But 64 isn’t very old. 64 is barely retirement. 64 is practically the new 40.

My daddy died at 64.

Up until my father’s death, I held tight to my belief’s.  God loved me. God was good and had good things for me.

After he died, I began to question those beliefs. Is God really good?  Does he really answer prayers?

Since honesty is the best policy, I have to tell you bitterness tries to creep into my soul on a weekly basis. There are ignorant, abusive fathers still living right now and my dad is gone. There are fathers who have nothing to do with their children, and yet my dad had to go? It hardly seems fair.

At church we sing It is Well.  The words come out of my mouth, and tears run down my face, but my heart is not in agreement.
It is Not well with my soul.
My soul feels disillusioned. I wonder when grief will stop squeezing my heart so tightly. I worry about my mother and the loneliness she faces. I cringe when I see other children with their grandpa and I’m forced to push back jealousy and anger.

I struggled to share these thoughts with anyone. I felt ashamed for doubting God. I thought if I questioned God and his goodness, then maybe I didn’t love him as much as I thought I did. If I was angry at God, perhaps my relationship with him wasn’t as strong as I’d hoped.

I recently reached out to a friend.  Someone who also lost a parent at a young age.
She gave me permission to ask why. To wrestle. To struggle. And yes, even question God’s goodness.

She reminded me of people in the Bible who questioned God.

In Psalm 10, David writes, “Why, Lord, do you stand far off?  Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?”

Even Jesus himself  asked, “…God why have you forsaken me?” when he was on the cross.

The great thing about these verses is they tell me  I’m not the only one to ask God why.
The not so great thing about these verses is they don’t show God giving an answer.
“Well, Jesus, I’m so glad you asked.  Here are the reasons you don’t feel me near….”
“David, calm down. I’m not hiding from you. In fact, I plan on rescuing you in seven days.”

The thing about God is, well…He is.
And we aren’t.

There are times my decisions as a parent don’t make sense to your limited toddler knowledge. In time you will grow to understand why we can’t eat ice cream for every meal, play with razors or run in the street.

Maybe in time my limited knowledge will understand why God allows certain things.
Or maybe I won’t.

If you haven’t experienced disappointment yet, you will. If your hearts have been sheltered from pain and grief up until now, be glad. Your father and I are doing our best to provide a loving home for you both.
But brace yourself. It will come. And you will ask why.

I want you to know it’s ok.

I’m giving you permission to ask God the tough questions.
To yell at him when you’re disappointed.
To beg him for just a glimpse of understanding so your heart won’t hurt so much.
To wrestle with your belief and not feel guilty or ashamed.

You may never get all the answers you seek.  I haven’t yet. But sometimes just asking the questions out loud makes me feel better.

Do I know why my dad died at 64? Nope.

Will I ever understand why he left us with so many memories still to be made? Probably not.

Is it truly well with my soul?  Not yet.

Is God still good?  You betcha.

Neala,

I finally tackled the box of pictures in your room.  We have been in the new house almost two months now.  I figured it was time to finish hanging them.

That’s when I saw it.  The message.
A little note your PawPaw wrote on the back of the frame.

I instantly burst into tears.  Large, crocodile tears literally flew off my face. You looked up at me with concern and confusion.  I told you I missed my daddy. Even though you are too small to understand what that meant you knew mommy was sad. You hugged me gently and mumbled sweet toddler jibber jabber.

At our old house, PawPaw helped me get your nursery ready.  We put the crib together. His body tired and frail from from chemo, and my body large and awkward from pregnancy.  What a pair we made trying to put that crib together!
He also went with me to the flea market where we found your dresser and talked the seller down to a better price.

We spray painted all 26 letters of the alphabet with a second and third coat of white because you were my first baby and I had the “everything must be perfectly perfect” syndrome mommies often get.

One day he called and told me he had three frames in his garage and asked if I wanted them for your room. He said they would “need a little lovin”.
Well that was an understatement.

They were a hideous gold color and the glass was missing in all of them.  The paintings inside were of dogs and ugly children on cloth.  The backing was cardboard.
They would be perfect in your nursery he said.  After a little lovin of course.

There’s no telling where he got them.
A flea market? The Goodwill? A nursing home’s yard sale?
I actually think he told me where he found them, but my pregnancy ate several brain cells so I simply cannot remember.

It would’ve been easy to throw them away and buy a set of new white frames at Target for $20. But I have too much of my daddy in me.  I can’t resist a project. Especially when it’s cheap and involves spray paint.

So we sprayed them white, went to Lowe’s and had glass cut, and I put our maternity pictures in them.  We hung them on the wall next to the rocker.

Every time I rocked you in the nursery I looked up and saw those frames. A sweet reminder of when I carried you inside.  But also a reminder of your PawPaw who helped me hang most of the pictures on your walls.

His birthday is in a few days.  September 8.  He would have been 65.
The ache in my heart is so deep I struggle to find words to explain.

Knowing he is cancer free and no longer suffering is great.  For him.
I’m happy for him.
I am not happy for me. For my sisters.  For my mother. For you and Lincoln.

When I saw his little note to you on the back of the frame I realized there would be no more little notes from him.  Is it possible to miss someone’s writing?  I think yes. Oh what I would give to get another note from him! In his scribbly little writing. Half capital, half lowercase and often misspelled.

It was typical for him to clean out my car when he came over.  One day I reached in my console to grab a pen and found an old CD case.  He had written a note on the back.

I found it again after he died and it put me in a sad slump for nearly three days.

Your PawPaw was an incredible man. I still cannot believe he’s gone and there will be no more memories made with him. If I think about it too long my sadness turns into bitterness. Bitterness doesn’t look good on mommy.

So I remind myself AGAIN to be grateful.
For the time I had with him.  For the memories we made. For the love he poured into me.
For the countless cards and letters he gave me growing up.
And for the notes he wrote to you.

When we were trying to decide on your middle name, he gave me this list.  Clearly you can see how silly he was.

(Neala Velveeta has a nice ring to it, eh?)

He was known to put random items on the heads of his grandchildren.  You were no exception. He sent me this picture one day while I was at school.

Below are pictures of some notes we found in his dresser after he died.

He loved you Neala.  He held you as a baby and would stare at you for hours.  He snuggled with you on the couch on Sunday afternoons.  He kissed your face and whispered your name every time he saw you.

  
These are the last pictures I have with the two of you together.
                I’m hoping as you grow you catch glimpses of him in me.

When I’m patient.  When I’m witty.  When I don’t quit at something even when it’s difficult. I want you to know I got those qualities from him.

Now that you’re getting older, your personality is really starting to emerge.  You are quirky and love getting your hands dirty. You are sweet and silly and loved by everyone.

 It makes me catch glimpses of him in you.