These days, most of the times I can talk about you with a smile and not through tears. I've told my husband so many stories about you, I think he knows them all by now. At he knows enough to be able to know you a little, enough sometimes to tell me what he thinks you would say. He knows your quotes, especially the "choose your battles" or "sometimes God gives you just enough rope to hang yourself with" similar to "sometimes there's not a wrong answer". He knows you always had a story ready for any situation, except that one time with my brother on your lap after the kid's hard ice hockey practice....and you thought you were fresh out of stories, but then proceeded to find another story to tell us.
Your smile I remember because you were always so quick with one and that's likely why my first reaction when I make eye contact with someone is to smile. Even living in Europe, where that set me apart, didn't "cure" me of that.
Always thoughtful, you looked into the heart of any situation, not the heat of it. You taught me to think critically from both sides, every angle of any situation. You taught me to look deeper than the surface.
Your love of sports was passed on to me and though basketball might have slidden into second place and football taken over, I still love our Blazers. I really, really wish you could see our group of Blazers today. You died right before the team's makeover, and now it's better than ever. You'd also see the poetic justice in the Blazers AND the Spurs going out in the second round this year :)
Your dedication to your dream, and Mom's support of you making that dream happen is what gave me the strength to see my husband through to find his dream. He's made it, he's done and on a roll to the next step, but without your example teamed with Mom, I would have been lost.
I miss your compassion and the right answer you always had for everything, or when you were stumped (and yes, it did happen) you'd say so with such stark honesty that, in and of itself, even helped too.
There are so many things I miss when I miss you. Most of the time it's easy to keep you aliving by reminiscing, telling stories and bringing you alive with the memories we share. I can say with certainty my husband has made it easier by "getting to know" you - not ever once blinking when I started to cry because of random story or song was played or a memory was triggered. He asks questions about you and listens and remembers the stories we've told. I think that's what's helped the most. So dad, mostly when I think of you now it's with a smile, not through tears. Sometimes though, on your birthday and on the day you died....it's different. I can't bake you a cake, send you a card, give you a call to say happy birthday and catch up. Sooo much I'd love to catch up on. Your birthdays stopped at 49....so those are the days that hurt the most.
Daddy, I love you and thank you for being the man you were, the husband you were, the dad you were. In my twenty two years with you, you taught me so much, more than any daughter could expect, and much, so much I didn't realize until later.
Until next year, Daddy!
Your (favorite) daughter.
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