Yesterday was fathers' day, the first one since my dad died last November. It felt bad to not be able to call him on the phone and say hello, thanks, I love you. I did a lot of things to take my mind off this over the weekend, but in the end I don't think I ever stopped thinking about him. I took a lot for granted with my dad. I took for granted that he loved me, he didn't say it a lot, but he made sure I knew it through everything he did. I never had to worry where my dad would be at the end of the day, he would be home. He would walk into the house at the end of his work day and head straight for mom, he would put down his lunchbox, hold her shoulders in both of his hands, kiss her full on the lips and say "hello honey,or how's my girl." The he would greet both my sister and I. That seems so simple, but I only just recently came to an understanding how vitally important this and dozens of other little things dad did was to me.
I know I started by saying how hard it was to not have the chance to call him this Sunday, and I said that with full understanding that the last 2 years I did get the chance to say it, he really wasn't there to understand it. Whether he did or not, it meant a lot to me to be able to thank him for what he did on a daily basis for my sister, mother and me. At no time did we ever doubt he was rooting for us. He may have been grumpy and contrary at times, but he was always a fan of us.
I love you dad, thanks for everything.
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