Missing Daddy

Yesterday was the two month anniversary of my father’s death. 

Two months.  I HATE that.  I hate that he’s not here.  I hate that I’ll never get to see him get older.  I hate that his life is over.   I hate that my time with him in this life is over.   If God had asked for my input, I would have said, “How about no deaths in my family? Period.  How about You just return?”  

I am so glad that he is with God.  I am so glad that we will have eternity together.  I am so glad that I serve a God who really does promise Happily Ever After for those who are in Him—not necessarily now in this world—but that we do say, “Death, where is thy sting?”.  I just HATE, HATE, HATE that my dad is gone from this world, from my life right now.   

I cried a little bit when I was on the phone with my mom yesterday.  We weren’t talking about Daddy-- we were talking about what kind of wines to have at Meg’s wedding.  Mom made some remark like, “I don’t know wine that well.  I mean, I know Châteauneuf-du-Pape is a great wine, but I don’t really anything more than that.”  Which made me remember that we bought a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape for my Dad last year.  I remember that I was the one who picked it up from the store per Mom’s request—I can’t remember the exact occasion—birthday? Father’s Day? Just because?  Daddy was so excited when we gave him the wine.  He  was sitting in his chair and did this quiet,  kiddish, “Oh, Boy!” and then started making plans about a really special family dinner where we could open the bottle—lobster, steak. . .  As soon as Mom mentioned the wine, that memory was so vivid, so there, I started weeping.  I asked if he had ever opened the bottle, and she said that she didn’t think he had.      

There are so many things I miss, but one funny thing I’ve noticed that I’ve missed is sharing gastronomic delights with him.  If I tried a new dish, I couldn’t wait to share it with him.  If I went on vacation, I stored up so many memories about the food to share with him later.  I can’t tell you how many times Dad took me out for supper—for grades, to celebrate good news, or just because.  Or, if he wasn’t here, he would send me gift cards and tell me to take one of my friends out for supper.  The other evening, I was at a wine-tasting, and someone had made this concoction of walnuts and goat cheese drizzled with honey liqueur.  I was so sad that I couldn’t share it with him, that I couldn’t surprise him at home with the ingredients, whip it up, open a nice bottle of wine, and then spend some time talking and munching.    

I miss him so much.  He was so much fun to share news with--  he would get so excited for and with you.  If I made a great score on a test, he was usually the first I’d call.   You know how much of a let down it is to have FANTASTIC news and then everyone you share it with responds with a simple, understated, “Neat,” and you feel so let down?  That never happened with Dad.  I am so sad there is so much news I’ll never be able to share with my Dad in this life. . .    “Dad, I’m going back to school to get my masters.”  “Dad, I’ve met this boy!”  “Dad, I’m getting married!”  “Dad, I’m pregnant!”    

So, because I was in Fayetteville yesterday, I stopped by his grave.  His gravestone is up and gives his name, date of birth in death, that he was active in Vietnam and received a Bronze Star.  I didn’t share any news—I don’t want to get in the habit of thinking that his grave is where he is—I just said I missed him.