Dear Dad...

Last Friday marked the 28th anniversary of the day my father was killed in an automobile accident. 28th anniversary - sounds like it should be a happy occasion. I make Jim celebrate the anniversaries of our first date, our wedding, my first Michigan State game. 28th anniversary of the day my father was tragically and irrevocably ripped out of our lives -- doesn't have the same ring to it.

I'm just now, at the age of 29, beginning to understand the wide expanse of the hole he left behind. Why now? I'm not sure. Maybe it's because I'm in a good place in my life. Maybe that's when all the stuff you couldn't deal with before bubbles up to the surface. I was 16 months old when he died. I have no memories of him. I don't remember what his voice sounded like, how he smelled, what it felt like to have him hold me. All the things a little girl (and a 29 year woman) should know about her father. Don't think for a second that losing a parent at a young age is somehow easier than losing them later in life. You lose a parent, it sucks - period. He never taught me how to throw a softball, never taught me how to dance before prom, never threatened the lives of any boy who would hurt his daughter. I'm not bitter - well, maybe a little. Why him? Why me? Why does this have to be ONE of the tragic defining moments of my life? Why can't I be the normal girl at school with a mommy and a daddy? Why can't I call him up today and say "Hi Dad, was just thinking about you" I don't get it and the more I think about it - the angrier I get. But, that's not my point today.....

When I was little, I used to fantasize that my Dad was going to come back to me. Maybe he was in the CIA or witness protection. One day he would show up on my door step and apologize for all the years he missed. We would hug and begin the father/daughter relationship I had longed for my entire life. I wish I could tell you those fantasies faded with my childhood -- but they're still there,  just under the surface. And, during difficult times in my life - I secretly entertain the idea that he could still come back. What would I say?
Dear Dad,

Ok, yes this is weird. I'm writing you a letter (for the whole world to read by the way). And, you're dead. That might send me over the edge just writing that. Dead. But, you're not. You are very much alive - in me. I like to think that I am a little piece of you that gets to live on. I like to think that some of the good in me comes from you. I like to believe that I have become a woman you would be proud to call your daughter. That's my biggest fear in the world - that you would be disappointed. You left this world far too soon and left behind what? A daughter who can't seem to get it together? I'm trying Dad, but I need you. I need my Dad to tell me that its ok, that its all going to be OK. I need you to be HERE.

I've made some bad choices Dad -  done things I'm not proud of. Would you have loved me anyway? Would you have shook your head in disappointment or wrapped me in your understanding arms? I guess I'll never know. And, that kills me. I won't rehash the events of the last 29 years -- we do have an audience. I guess the long and the short of it is - you weren't there. When I was in a bad relationship - I needed my Dad to be the superhero that rescued me. When I finally met and married my best friend - I needed my Dad to walk me down the aisle. When I graduated high school, college, got my first job - I needed you.

But, I'm Ok Dad. In the grand scheme of where I could be in my life -- I think I'm doing pretty well. Mom is ok too. She misses you - every day, though she would never say that out loud. I have good friends, a beautiful home and a job that pays the bills. I have two men in my life I wish you could meet. My husband, Jim, is the man I know you picked for me. I can imagine you and God sitting on a cloud looking down to earth saying, "he's the one for her -- go have somebody event something called EHarmony so we can get them together" The other is a Jim too -- my father in law, Papa D. He's a Dad any girl would be lucky to have. He already has a beautiful daughter of his own, but he has love enough in his heart for me too. He protects me and looks out for me -- I know someday you will shake his hand and say "thank you for taking care of my little girl".

Well Dad, I gotta run. I'm at work and bawling like a baby at my desk as I write this. Don't worry -- we'll still have our regular chats -- when I'm running or driving or snuggling in for the night. I love you. I miss you. And I thank you for being a man I can be proud to call my Dad. I'll be seeing you -- I still need those dance lessons. Oh - and give Grandpa a kiss for me.

Love, Miranda