Dear dad...

Hey dad, this one's just for you. My posts are few and far between now, I know, and mom hates that. Just write, she says. It can just be little things, she says. And I'm just like her I know. Things seem so easy in other people's lives. And I'm super happy that I'm just like her, but mom, you need to close your eyes and stop reading now. This one's for dad.

So, dad, now it's just me and you, and I want to tell you something. I want to say… Thank you. As I look back on my 40 years, you were constant. You were never disappointed in me (except that one damn time when I was three and forgot my tricycle at the park!) and, here's the big thing, you never judged me. If I did well, you were proud; if I didn't do well, you were still proud. It took me awhile to realize that. When I was in college and came home to visit, I loved to come and see you at work. Literally while I was sitting here typing this I realized why. You had pictures and buttons there of me and Jen, and you always told the truck drivers and co-workers about us. Things I didn't even realize you knew about me, whether for sports or for school. I had one-sentence letters from you saying mom made you write to me, but they made me smile. You always sent me stamps. You did little things that, looking back, were the things that you knew would make me happy. More than the one sentence letters, they were the things that let me know it wasn't just mom who missed me. I kind of took those little things for granted when I was in school, but I remember them now. They don't seem like such little things now. They still make me smile.

I know you're struggling now, and I wish I could help. I wish I could send you stamps and make you feel better! You were always the one in the background, tagging along. Hopefully (for us!) not lost, but just 5, or maybe 50, feet back. You were the one who walked slowly with whatever grandkid was poking along, and enjoyed doing that. Even though we make fun of you for not noticing things, for not paying attention, I'm convinced you were actually noticing. You noticed the kid that needed a friend. Perhaps you recognized yourself in that kid a bit. You knew what it was like to be the one left behind while everyone walked ahead. And it wasn't just my kids and Jen's kids. I remember trips to the Juvenile facility to visit. And I remember visiting the friend with the adult disabled child. You were always a friend to those who didn't quite have it all together. I'm not nearly as comfortable as you in those situations, and I really wish I was. You recognized that words weren't always important… it was the showing up and simply hanging out. I always tried to fill the space with words. Now I'm not sure words were always needed. In fact, I'm pretty sure they weren't.

A few weeks ago you told me that for the first time, you feel old. I'm sorry. I wish you didn't. I wish you didn't need a cane or a walker, and I wish you didn't try to get to the kitchen today by going through the wall! I wish your body would cooperate with small walks around the block, and with mowing the lawn. It doesn't seem like too much to ask. But I guess I just want you to know that while I can't fix it, I noticed. I see you, and I see what you've done for us, and I see your struggles. And I appreciate it all, even if it doesn't always seem that way.