Tag Archives: father

Five Years Without You

Dear Daddy,

I’ve often imagined what a typical day in heaven is like for you. Now, on the fifth anniversary of your death I am wondering, what does five years feel like in heaven?

In case you’re wondering, here’s what five years feels like down here…

I live in a house you’ve never seen. You aren’t here to help me when I need to fix or paint something. I cry angry tears when spring comes and I work on the front yard landscaping alone. That was always our thing.

I have children you never met. Twins in fact. I know, right? You always joked about wanting twin grandbabies. When I look at my kids, I see so many of the qualities I adored in you. Kindness, quick whit and curiosity. If you were still here I wonder how you would influence their little personalities.

But it’s not just the kids and this old house triggering sadness. It’s me. Five years later I am a different person and it’s strange to think you don’t know the new me. Since you passed, I am stronger. Not just in my faith, but in my thinking and determination.

Oh, I’m still selfish and greedy. I want you back so you can teach my children what you taught me. Five years later I grieve the memories that will never happen.

The year you died my heart was dripping with sadness. The waves of grief washed over me frequently. Now, they don’t come as often or linger as long. But when they come, oh how my heart longs for you. Then I do what I have done every year for five years. I pull out your old shirts and smell them. I put on your jacket and put my hands in the pockets. Then I let myself cry. The kind of cry that makes your chest ache and gets stuck in your throat. I let grief hug my soul and I mourn what is gone.

As quickly as the sadness comes, it’s gone. I take a deep breath and once again choose to accept the sovereignty of God. I remind myself pain has purpose. My pain has a purpose and I will not waste it. You wouldn’t want me to. So I change my lens and remind myself,  even in death you are still helping shape who I am. Five years later I think you would be proud of who I have become. More like you.

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Calling for daddy

Lincoln,

Your vocabulary is growing. Every day you repeat a new set of words. 

“Where sissy go?”, “I pick up”, “Hole me”, and “High five!” are among the favorites. 

But the word you say the most is daddy. 

It is the first word you say in the morning, even when I come in to get you. For awhile, every adult you saw was daddy.
If you hear a loud car driving, you always think it’s daddy coming home. You smile and walk to the front windows repeating “daddy, daddy, daddy” all the way. If you fall and get hurt, you guessed it, daddy.

You spent the night with JoJo the other night & she gave you a bath. You got scared and started to cry. JoJo said you cried out for daddy.

The best is when I catch you being sneaky. Trying to climb onto the kitchen counter, opening the pantry door, or throwing toys in the trash. When I smack your sticky little hand, you cry as if the world is ending and yell for daddy whether he’s home or not.

It’s pretty much your default word. 

You might think I’m jealous.
I’m really not.

Most of the time I find it endearing. It warms my heart to know you love your father so much. Rightly so. He throws you in the air, cuddles with you on the couch, and lets you and Neala eat mac-n-cheese for breakfast. (Mommy doesn’t let you do that.)

You know your daddy loves you. That he will scoop you up with his big strong arms and comfort you, talk to you, spend time with you.
Yep, he’s a pretty great father.

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Last year was tough for me.
The demands and pressure that accompanies four small children has, at times, given me feelings of overwhelming sadness and anxiety. 

Funny how God uses small, seemingly insignificant things to speak to us. 

The other day when I heard you cry for daddy, the famous lightbulb went off in my brain. I needed to cry to my “daddy” for help more than I had been. I needed to lift up a prayer to God, my Heavenly Father.

Your constant call for daddy reminded me of what should be my default. The last few months I’ve been so caught up in all my responsibilities. I neglected to do what I absolutely know to do. Call for help.
I could keep thrashing around in the water, barely staying afloat. Or I could cry for daddy to pick me up and throw me in the boat.

He won’t get tired of my calling for him, and won’t ignore me.

Because He is always ready to scoop us up in his big strong arms and offer comfort.
Yep, he’s a pretty great Father.