He never liked April Fools' anyway

April 1st.

It's been one year. One year since the worst day of my life. One year ago today I lost my Dad. Something about the one year mark really hurts. Missing your Dad for full year feels like an eternity. It feels really long to say my dad died 1 year ago because the hurt is still so fresh. But it's been one year since I've seen his face. It's been one year since I held his hand. It's been one year since I heard his voice. My God, I miss him.

Why is it that anniversaries are so much harder than other days?

There is nothing particularly different about today, the anniversary of his death. I guess it's just a reminder that life is moving on and that we are further removed from that person.

And my heart? I literally have felt it breaking. I didn't know that was possible but my heart was physically breaking and I could FEEL it. 

I remember everyone telling me that "it gets easier." Not true. Total B.S!!! Because in my darkest, quietest moments, I still miss him just as bad as I did that first week. Grief does not improve as life goes on. Things do not get a little better every day. To me, grief has been cyclical. It just keeps coming back. The person you miss never stops being gone. And my heart will never fully recover from Dad's loss. 

Maybe grief is more like waves. At first, it’s a big rush that capsizes you and pulls you under in one big tidal wave. The smaller waves continue to hit you daily, never letting you forget that the person you loved is gone. After that, it just comes at the most random times. I've been watching TV or vacuuming and that big wave will hit me again and suddenly I just start welling up and soon I’m sobbing on the couch with no end in sight. I never knew anyone could cry this much. But one thing this past year of grieving has taught me is that you have to let the waves of emotion wash over you whenever they rise up. And I am lucky to have a husband who has held my hand and let me cry. Every. Single. Time.

Now it has been a year. A whole year since I've heard him say “I love you, princess.” And I’ll never hear that again and that’s what’s so hard.

My very favorite picture of us. Dad watching a game and letting me play beauty shop.

He was singing to me as we danced. I guess you say. What can make me feel this way...

I do have the cutest distraction in the world. Crosby. That wonderful little dude. 

And he fills my days with love, joy, beauty and hope. When Crosby was born my real adventure began. But in the midst of it all, I miss my dad. I spend so much time wishing he were here for all of this, trying and failing to convince myself that he is, in some way. I know he would have all the right things to say, and then I cry because he's not here to say them. 

There are things we choose to believe because we like the way they make us feel. I may never know for sure if people--before they're born and after they die--exist together in some place in the beyond. I may never know for sure if my dad was holding Crosby before he got to be mine. But believing it to be true brings me comfort, and I cry happy tears visualizing my Dad holding Crosby's hand moments before he was born to me and Dad whispering to him, good luck, grandson, she's all yours.

Please, if you have a second, say a little prayer or send happy thoughts my way, and my mom's way, and my sister’s and my niece's and aunt and uncle and Mama and so many who loved my Dad as much as me. I know that is a lot of people. He had such a profound affect on people. I am so grateful for that. Grateful that I got to share him.

I don't expect to ever get over the pain of Dad's death. But maybe, just maybe, by the grace of God, I'll get through it.

There are ups, and there are downs.
Life is beautiful and life is hard.
We carry on.

Daddy, I miss you. I mean, I REALLY MISS YOU. I know you’re looking down on me. I know every time I cry, you are there whispering for me to stop. I hope I’m making you proud. I hope that you know how much you’re missed.

I love you to the moon... and back.

{I read the following poem at my Dad's funeral. It was the perfect way to honor him because it perfectly described him.}

Daddy, this is for you, again:

I had a father who talked with me.

Allowed me the right to disagree,

To question - and always answered me,

As well as he could - and truthfully.

He talked of adventures; horrors of war; 

Of life, its meaning; what love was for;

How each would always need to strive 

To improve the world to keep it alive. 

Stressed the duty we owe one another 

To be aware each man is also a brother.

Words for laughter he also spoke, 

A silly song or happy joke. 

Time runs along, some say I'm wise, 

That I look at life with seeing eyes. 

My heart is happy, my mind is free 

I had a father who talked with me.

Love,

Carmen