Hey, Dad,

Woke up early this Thanksgiving morning thinking a lot about you. It seems beyond the broad shoulders, chubby cheeks and the “it is what it is” attitude, I’ve also inherited a fall asleep on the couch watching TV, and up before dawn sleep cycle from you. As the sun rose over the farm this morning, I spotted the matted grass in the fields where the deer slept, watched the birds come to life, and saw the sunrise turning the sky a mix of gray and purple. It’s divinely quiet and beautiful. I know you would’ve loved it. I miss you.

It’s been seven months since you died and it seems like it was both yesterday and a lifetime ago that I watched you take your last breath. It’s still doesn’t feel real, and is still unimaginable. I feel your loss everyday and yet, when I think of you, more often than not, it brings a smile rather than tears. I have my moments, my days, but then I remember who you were and all that you taught me, and I get moving.

In my very lucky life, I’ve briefly acknowledged, while scrolling by the social media posts, and briefly gazing past the section of greeting cards in the store, that the holidays are not always happy for everyone, but I’ve never internalized it. I’ve never felt the loss, being too engaged in the joy that the holidays meant for me and my family. Since you died, it’s been your 80th birthday, your and mom’s anniversary, my 60th birthday, and now it’s Thanksgiving and, on this gorgeous morning, as I sit here thinking of you, I know that it will be spent without you in the world.

And yet, today will be a joyous day, because that is what you taught me and that is what you want for me. And, although you are not here, you will be all over this day. I already saw you in the sunrise, I will see you in my kids’ and granddaughters’ mannerisms, cheeks, laughter and joy as we gather together. When I crack my first beer, and have one of each dessert, there you will be. And life goes on.

Happy Thanksgiving, Dad.

Love,

Yeddie