your little girl

Dear Dad,
Five years ago today, Guy, the boys and I put a nice, sharp pencil and the Sunday crossword in your coffin with you. This after a good chuckle about choosing one of the readings for your funeral in part because it contained the word "hoary" and we had to look it up. A really good crossword word, hoary. I haven't done a crossword since--not even the easy ones. Come to think of it, I don't think I've really used a pencil much, either; just pens. I can see you, just beyond my eyes, when I look up from my computer. I miss you. We all do.
Five years ago today, we travelled through the worst snow I'd been on the road for in forever. Well, since that time driving home from Rochester, when I figured you must have x-ray vision, because I sure as shootin' couldn't see the road from the back seat! You kept telling Mom that everything was fine, as long as you could concentrate. You could tell those white lies so convincingly! ha! I digress....I have pictures of where the road should be on our way to church that morning. And I told the boys that it was so like you to make sure there was a storm like that! It's lucky we made it to the house in the first place, and then to head to the church--and lunch afterwards! Only you.
Five years ago today, we stood in the snow in the cemetery, huddled together as much for actual warmth as for support. I remember so little of the ceremonies--the funeral Mass or the burial--but I most certainly remember the love, the joy we all share for having had you in our lives, the shared sadness. And I remember the Marines who came, a two and a half hour trip that took them nearly five; how young they seemed, how brave, and determined. In their dress blues, they saluted with rifles as the church bells rang their noon glory. When they folded the flag, they fought the need to shiver, unable to feel their fingers in their dress gloves.
Five years ago today, we invited those Marines to lunch, insisting that they join us, and eat before the long trip back to Syracuse. They agreed, but when we arrived at the restaurant, and they asked me to retrieve the flag for them, I realized they came as much out of a need to properly refold the flag as for the free meal. I was again impressed at the fact that you "survived" the Marine Corps. I wish we could have talked more about your time in the service after Mr. Johnson convinced you that it was something you should be more proud of. All I will ever know is that you were never sure it had been the right thing for you to do. Given that's what I knew from you, why would I be proud of you and so impressed? Because you followed through. You made the best of what you considered to be a less-than-ideal situation, and came through it a stronger man. It was a struggle, but you showed me that some of the important parts of  life are just that: struggles. But the result is as important as the journey.
Five years ago today, we all agreed that Valentine's Day would probably always be very different for us. Bittersweet. A beautiful day to share and remember the love we feel for one another, but also a day to remember losing one of our best examples of that love and devotion. A day on which I am deeply reminded how fragile yet strong loving wholeheartedly can make us. Thank you for that gift--something I never thought I'd say. Rose Kennedy said, "It has been said 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, (protecting its sanity) covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessons. But, it is never gone." Dad, I think, somehow, whether because of Paul Harvey afternoons or Reader's Digest magazines, you had something to do with my love of quotes. It could also have been your knack for making up convincing reasons and explanations for just about any question under the sun (or moon!). I believe Rose Kennedy was quite correct, although the scar tissue sometimes gets in the way of other healing, stretching and growing.
Five years ago this week, I faced just how much I was blessed to have you for as my dad, my guardian, my mentor, my first teacher, my friend. I love you still, and can see your spirit in the boys, in my dear Guy, in my siblings, and their families. Your legacy lives on. And yet, I miss you. I will always be your little girl, and will always feel like that little girl when I think of you, and when those thoughts bring tears to my eyes; an ache to my heart. The tears are a bit further between, and my insides feel a bit less hollow, but the love has continued to grow. Continue to laugh with us, and guide our feet on the journey. Remind us to take the long way when we can, and to savor the sights and sounds, the experiences of our expeditions. Lead us to the ice cream and frozen yogurt shoppes of life, whatever sustenance they will provide for our souls, minds and bodies. Guide us in love, hope, and faith, all of which you demonstrated to us, unwaveringly. Thanks, Dad. xo
Love,
Stephania