I Still Can't Believe He's Gone
Five years. Five years that seem simultaneously forever and instantaneous. Time is odd like that.
Today it's been five years since my dad died. It wasn't a day I was expecting or had in any way prepared for. At 68 he seemed far too young to die. He had just bought a sail boat to live on for half the year. He was running a 5K the next week. He was in the middle his "last" big work project. (I didn't believe he'd actually stop working.) And he was my dad. Dad's are invincible, right?
In the five years since that day, life has been both bad and good. Which I guess is pretty typical. My baby sister got married. He wasn't there to walk her down the aisle. My big sister's marriage fell apart. I wasn't sad he missed out on that. We bought a new house. It's weird that I live somewhere he's never seen or even known about.
There are times I wake up from vivid dreams of him and question whether or not he's really gone. I think about calling him but then remember.
I suppose that's my confession today: after five years I still can't believe my dad isn't with us anymore.
Never mind his boat in my driveway, his leather chair in my den, or his "dad" coffee mug I bought him at Carlsbad Caverns on the shelf by my sink. Those things aren't supposed to be here. They're supposed to be with him.
I still have the last email me he sent me in my inbox. It's an article on peanut allergies - my youngest daughter is allergic to peanuts. Dad's email serves as a small reminder that he cared about the details of my life. That I wasn't far from his mind. That he loved me.
I didn't know where I was going with this confession until I wrote that last sentence. Those words remind me of my eternal Father. God cares about the details of my life. I'm never far from His mind. He loves me.
Those truths don't take away the ache in my heart, but they do give me hope. I needed a little hope today.
#confessionsofanotsolaidbackmom
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;
he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.
-Psalm 34:18
