To Dadio, Love #3

Dear Dadio,

I’ve been meaning to call. I miss you. It’s been too long since I heard your laugh. I think I forget how it sounds. I miss making you laugh.

I get so mad sometimes, people bringing you up in conversation and reminding me that you’re gone. The pain of remembering you died is unbearable, so I prefer to think, man, it’s been too long since I’ve called Dad. I should call him, pick his brain about something, ask him about that one thing, listen to his stories I’ve heard 1,000 times and still laugh just as hard as I would if it were the first time.

I feel like I’m rambling. I don’t know what else to do. My thoughts aren’t as organized as they would be if this were a paper for school. Emotions flood my heart, knot my stomach and tighten my throat. There is no way to process them.

I miss you every day, every moment. You are always in the back of my mind. I hate when people talk to me about random things or complain to me. I have no patience for it. Oh, I’m sorry you only got a 10% tip off that table…? Poor thing! Well, My Dad died…so shut the Hell up.

It’s hard to concentrate. Everything I do, no matter what I do, my mind is drowned with my memories of your face, your words.

How do you get to the point of acceptance? When will my chest stop feeling like it’s caving in?

Remember the time you painted my toenails? I couldn’t stop giggling. We picked out a couple different colors because you said you were going to make a design. We laughed so hard when it turned out to be sloppy big blobs of color. I sported my Dad pedicure, I was proud of the ugly blobs. They were beautiful to me, and they made me smile.

Remember Van Sushi night? We couldn’t just get the small platter of sushi from Costco. You always went big. We had enough to feed five. We laid the massive tray in the middle of the front seats in the van on that wooden center console thing you painted white. The tray barely fit. I ran into the In n Out and got us a couple sodas. We sat in that parking lot, listening to the AM radio talking, laughing, eating sushi with our hands. When we were both full of VanSushi we looked down and saw that we had barely made a dent in the tray. We drove to Grandma’s that night. You kept falling asleep, I took my eyes off the road a few times to make sure you were still breathing. Remember how we forgot to tell Grandma there was a huge tray of leftover Vansushi in her fridge? She went to open the fridge door the next morning and the oversized tray crashed to the ground. You know how toast always lands butter side down? Well, apparently the same rule applies to Vansushi. Grandma was so mad. Hehehe.

Remember the AM vs FM radio battle? You listened to AM constantly. I was the one that was driving you everywhere, so I finally said to you, “Dad, if I have to listen to Rush, or Savage Nation for one more minute, I’m probably going to drive us off a cliff!” I cracked a smile, so did you, we laughed. After that we alternated days AM, FM, AM, FM. Any time is was my turn, you made fun of the lyrics or asked me if this was REALLY music. I’d tease back telling you that you were just old and didn’t understand. Anytime it was your turn I’d softly sing a song about how I was going to drive off a cliff. It would make us bust up laughing.

I can never find the right words to express my sorrow, anger, sadness.

I used to tell you all the time…I’m 24, you’re 54, that’s too young! Way too young! I told you it wasn’t fair. You agreed. I caught you in a very lucid mood one day, we made Banana splits together, I asked you, “What will I ever do with out you?” You folded your arms, leaned back on the kitchen counter and thought for a moment. You said, “We’re gonna do what Dads and Daughters have always done. You’re going to face it, and hope for a better day.”

I can’t face it Dad, it’s too hard without you. The aching never stops, It doesn’t let me breathe even for a second, but I’m doing my best.

I will love you forever,

Your favorite 3^rd Daughter

Your Punky Princess

Your Deeders

Your World Traveler

Yours.