It's September 14.
My Dad's birthday was September 17.
My Dad died August 1.
It's been hard. Really hard.
I can't even think about family get-togethers. Or the holidays coming up. Or his birthday in a few days. Fact is, I'm finding it hard to think about him at all.
I wish things happened here on earth as they do in Heaven. No tears, no sorrow, no pain. That would be nice.
Daddy would be 76 years young. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to get better. After 8 days in the hospital running routine tests, and then a week at the home of my sister with all of us around him day and night, he was supposed to get better. WHY didn't he get better? What purpose is there behind his death? I don't understand. I hate it that I don't understand.
I know he's in heaven, but we who are left here on earth wish he were still with us. I wish he were still with me.
Daddy was my hero. He taught me to work hard, to stick with a project or a job until it was done, or until the sun went down and there was no light left to work by.
He taught me to love unconditionally. He showed me so many things, and I don't know that I thanked him for any of it.
He and I hauled hay together, fed cattle together, rounded up cattle together, milked cattle together, and so much more.
I love him so much, it hurts when anyone even mentions him. I can't see a picture of him without wanting to break down and cry. I've only allowed myself to do that one time since the day after his funeral. I don't see what good it would do to weep.
I love you so much Daddy, and I miss you everyday. I can't wait to see you again.
