In Memory
year 5, letter 1, 3:58 am
12 March 2014
5 years is a long time. I still think about you every day, that hasn’t changed. Every day for five years. What would you tell me? What would you say?
I don’t know. I’m feeling a bit lost right now, and very tired. I don’t know what I am doing wrong most of the time, and I spend a lot of time thinking about that.
I think about what I miss most about you. What I miss the most is when you used to tuck me in a night, and when you kissed me good night, the stubble of your beard would prick my face, and I would giggle because everything would be alright. I miss that the most. I miss the way you used to smell, and I miss hearing the crack of sunflower seeds, and the way you’d tear up at my school events, during sports events, because you loved and were willing to let love, and took pride in so much. I miss the last five days I spent with you, helping me study for a test. I miss you lying on my bed and reading those words to me, and I missed the way things looked when things were finally looking ok again.
And I do get jealous. I see kids and their dads and there’s a dull ache in my chest because I know that’s a bond that’s been lost. And I wonder what you would tell me on nights like these when I am tired and telling myself to go to sleep because I am a wreck.
Sometimes I am scared of forgetting. I will not forget. I love you, I love you, I love you. I am terrible at letting things go, and I will not let you go. It may hurt me, but I miss you, and I cry I cry.
i miss the sunday mornings where I felt something would go wrong if I went to interrupt your sleep at 7 in the morning but I went anyway because the mountain of your back was so rigid I was sure it would never disappear.
I remember the day of the funeral and how frustratingly blue the sky was. I remember the clouds and thinking that you were definitely there that day, so full of life and so sure that you did not want to be there. I am feeling pretty numb today dad, pretty worn out. I miss you.
It’s been five years. In five years time, I became a kindergartner and Aaron became a happy gurgling two year old. In another five years, you left us. Five more years, and here I sit, eyes held open by the crust of my tears. Tell me, does it get better? tell me. am I working towards a goal worth living for?
Tell me, do you miss me? Do you still know me? I miss you dad, truly I do.
And all this useless justification of whether you were here or not, I don’t need it. I need you, I miss you, I love you.
But you’re gone now, and that’s ok. I will try to be a good daughter even then.
My one wish is just to feel your stubble brush my cheek one more time. When I think of you, that is what I remember.