To my father

I reflect upon the life of a man. He wasn’t a politician, a movie star, a scientist, or a doctor. He didn’t raise armies or make brilliant discoveries, didn’t fight for world peace, or have claim to any riches. He was a father, a son, a grandfather, a brother. My dad.

He taught me to always try to be kind, but to never fail to be smart. To follow my dreams, and to always, always do everything from a place of passion, love, and heart. I will always remember his smile and see the reflection of his eyes looking back at me when I look in the mirror. I will remember the good times, and the bad. I will remember his lessons. I will remember his love. And I will try to keep living my life and reaching for the heights that would make him proud.

It’s been a little over a week. I’ve looked at so many pictures, relived so many memories. I’m sad, frustrated, angry, and at a loss. Grief ebbs and flows. I remember silly stories at random, like the time you dressed up like your mother for Halloween, or how you’d always order your dessert with your meal. I remember moments, frozen in the flow of my memories; sitting on your shoulders to grab a peach from our backyard tree, learning how to drive, fishing together. Those ridiculous but delicious little “breakfast” sandwiches you make us on summer vacation. I miss you, dad. I miss hearing your voice on the phone. I miss getting your gardening advice. I miss the way you’d tell me to “just be careful” up here in NYC and how I’d roll my eyes. I miss your laughter.

I miss you. So much.

I love you, daddy.

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