Dad,They Tore Out The Flowerbeds

The boxes have been emptied, and the house you loved has sold.

Someone else now wanders down the halls that you made feel like home.

The stories held in picture frames, proudly displayed upon the walls, serving as proof that we existed are now emptied and donated, left for someone else's tales.

I sit quietly and rewind the saved voicemails on my phone, to hear you say my name, keeping me from forgetting, straining to remember the sound of your voice, the loving tone you covered me with, assuring me I was special, and no matter my age, I would always be your little girl. The sixth star in your crown.

You made it look so easy in fact, that I was unprepared for the day you would no longer be here to offer them.

For months, I refused to go through that town, driving miles out of my way denying, pretending, wishing things weren't as I knew they were. Different, lonely and nearly unbearable. I feel abandoned in a strange new world that I did not agree to be in and certainly don't belong.

Now, I sort through faded pictures, to find you, to hold what remains in my hands, trying desperately to reclaim the happiness they hold, willing to pay any price to get back just one more day. My fingers trace the outline of your rugged face, the one that smiled and encouraged. The one that held me up and supported me through every change, even this one. In our goodbye, you did your best to comfort and guide me through the loss that was to come. And I miss you more than words can say.

In every picture, your smile steals the show. I wish I could comprehend how the days find the strength to go on. Where does the sun find the will to rise over a world where you are not? Where can I find the manual that walks me through how to face tomorrow? That is what you did, that is how I survived. Loss is at a loss to define the true meaning of living without you.

I wonder if the new strangers that occupy your house have any idea how wonderful you were. If they can see in the details of your workmanship, just how much pride was taken into building a house. Can they appreciate the finesse, commitment and love it took to turn it into a home. Can they feel your love in the floorboards. Do they hear the "I loves yous" that echoed freely down the halls, the "hey, five minutes LULU" calls to get us out of the bathroom and at the kitchen table.

Or is it just a house, a shelter, room and walls?

Have you simply been erased from the lifelong journey of trial and errors that it takes in creating a life ?

I know you will forever live in my heart. My children have your eyes and your humor and you live on vicariously in their faces. But, it is your face, your hug, your sparkle that seems impossible to replicate.

Can I except that there are those who will never understand the full essence of who you were. Are. And forever will be, eternally.

Your brother remains and although I can hear you in his voice and his stories of you are as vivid as a dream. I am ashamed at my jealousy, that it makes me sad that it is his voice I hear, stirring my earbuds and shared tears of finality.

When I remember you, the past escapes, welcoming the memories to flood over me and I am thankful. For your influence, your example, your unending, unconditional love that I have yet to find in another.

God surely said hallelujah, he's home.

I love you poppers....boo (oh, by the way, happy father's day)