It's been a month since my dad left this world. A whole month since I heard his voice. It's amazing the strength the Lord gives you to get through things when you think the world should just stop. I will never write about the thousands of hours Daddy and I spent chatting about the future or our plans to change the world. We didn't have those talks and we didn't have those plans, but we had our time, our traditions, and our normal.
It's that normal I miss. It's the early morning talks on the phone in the mornings as I drove to Oxford I've missed this month. I think we both found delight in seeing which one of us could call the other earlier. This summer as his treatments got fewer and fewer he would sleep later and I would win the wake up the call contest. Our conversations had a normal rhythm. We talked about the time, the weather, Jett, work, his plans for the day, my plans for the week, and by the time I rolled on to campus I was letting him of the phone. On one particular morning it was foggy and I remember how on foggy days he called me first to make sure I knew to follow the lights of the car in front of me, and be careful. A long time truck driver he always had road ready rules he was willing to share over and over again.
With Halloween coming up I remember last year it being so important for me to take Jett by so he could see him in his costume. I'm just sad for the moments that we won't enjoy together. Ours wasn't a daily visit, but the hard part is knowing the visits are no more, not weekly, not monthly, not ever.
Several times in the past month I've realized that I was given the greatest gift being able to be at his side when he took his final breaths, but also I've been disturbed by those moments, too. It's an odd place to be right now, and I will be the first to say this blog won't turn in to my place vent, but I want it to be documented how we coped and how life went on through the tears and the laughter.
That neglected middle child
4 days ago