17 years ago, my father died. For at least 15 years after, I could tell you the exact hour of his passing... Every year, for at least 15 years, that date was branded on my soul, and it was a dark day for me. The past couple of years, though... that day has passed and I never so much as blinked, or choked back a tear. It's a time to celebrate, really... I haven't reached that stage of acceptance that he is gone - no.. Rather, I've reached a time in my life where I've finally accepted that he's forever with me.
I don't have a need to hold onto those horrid details of the months and hours before his passing... For so long, these memories kept me from my relationship with God. I resented Him for allowing my Superman to suffer so. I have finally come to realize that death in ANY form is not what those left behind want to face. I trust in Him that there is a reason, and a purpose to everything under Heaven.
My father came to me in a dream, about a month after he passed... This dream is my connection to him in the afterlife - I swear to you in these words that my father came to me, and he told me he wasn't here to stay... that he'd come back to let me know he made it, and that he loves me! My daddy is in Heaven - and I will see him again!
17 years ago, this month... I forget the exact day, and I don't need reminding. I miss him terribly, and wish that my children could have known him! He would have made the BEST Grandpa :) His picture hangs on my wall, a photo of him holding his beer, in a koozie, in a wine glass... as if saying "Here's a toast to you, Jen... to life... and to us!" My daddy...
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