18

Dear Dad,
It's been 18 years now since we've been together. 18 years. I've changed so much. I was twelve when you died, innocent and safe. Completely unaware of the tragedy that was about to change me forever.

At first, the hole you left in my life was all I was aware of. I didn't know that anyone could feel that amount of pain and emptiness and still live. Time passed, however, and I survived. I used to think that the hole, the emptiness your absence created, would shrink with time. I was wrong.

It's there, still, the same as before. You were a huge part of my life and I will never fill that space. I may not be as aware of it-in fact, there are times I don't even notice-but it's there.

You should know how happy I am. I have the most incredible family of my own now. I think that you would really like them. Knowing that this day was coming, I've been thinking about them and you and what we are all missing.

You missed my wedding. It was amazing. All of your siblings were there and they sang a karaoke song for you. It was bittersweet. There were games and food and fun and I was angry because my mom didn't have someone to hold her hand and share in her joy like only a husband could. I'll bet that you would have sang a song and done a great job making us all laugh and possibly cry. You spoke incredibly well, and you could have welcomed my husband into our family. Instead, he has to wonder if you would have approved. And as I've watched him today, excited about the possibility of getting his own driftboat, I ache because I know that the two of you would have gotten along splendidly. I can see the visits you and mom would have made and imagine all the laughter and fun we could have had. Now, Denver will never know you. You'll never come to Oregon and fish with him, get to know and love him as I do. And he'll never know you, the man that shaped so much of my life.

I have three kids now, Dad. You haven't met any of them. I had to teach my oldest son about "doorknob & safety" because you weren't here to do it. He'll be turning 12 in a few months and becoming a deacon. Without you. Just yesterday, Chase told me he only had one grandpa. He's right. And for years, he didn't have any. He needed you. Still does. He asks about you sometimes and I try to explain about what an amazing person you were but I know that I don't do you justice. How do I get him to understand how much fun you were-that just being around you could make me feel better? That you had more energy than any one person should. The games, the stories, the ability to get us to work without realizing we were! To him, you are a ghost. A shadow of a man. A vague picture painted only by words, and some old photographs. And you'll be the same to my other children, Corbin and Mia. They'll never truly know you and that really hurts.

This is just my little family. You had five amazing children and we all have families. I know they're all aware of your absence. You're missing our lives. The births, the blessings, the good times and the bad. Sometimes I get so angry that I'm glad that you're missing all of this. You didn't stick it out with us, so you don't deserve to share in the triumphs and joys of our lives. Why should you get to know such amazing people as all of us? Because we are. We picked up the pieces of our shattered lives and we learned to survive and be happy without you. Then, the anger fades and once again I'm left with that gaping hole. And the knowledge that underneath it all, after 18 years, all I really want is my Dad. I miss you.

Love,
Scout