Yesterday was a tough day for me.
Five years ago, my father passed away. I still miss him very much. His absence is felt even more when big events or landmark moments occur in my life, and I’m unable to share them directly with him.
I know, I know…you’re probably saying to yourself, “He’s there” or “He knows”…
And while that may be the only comforting words one could find to say to someone feeling the absence of a loved one, it doesn’t help much. Regardless of whether or not it’s actually a correct statement in a factual sense.
And while I’m on the subject of “comforting phrases of condolence” here’s another…”It gets easier”…or “It will get better”.
This, my friends, is quite simply...
When you’ve experienced the loss of someone close, it never gets easier to feel their absence from your life. You will always wish for them to be there from time to time, and big moments of your life will always be bittersweet…sometimes painful.
The only thing that becomes easier as time goes on? Acceptance. Acceptance that the person you are missing is simply not there any more. You still miss them greatly.
I really miss my dad. Especially in those times of note when I wish more than anything that he could be there to share in triumph. I miss his stories. I miss his snarky one-liners, his insanely lurid and downright irreverent jokes, and his topically irrelevant anecdotes. I miss his hugs, his gentle hand on my shoulder along with the fatherly squeeze of approval and pride he would give me on the back of my neck.
I miss the sound of his voice…the calm timbre of excitement when he was proud, and the stern, quizzical tone when he was concerned.
Over the weekend, my bandmates and I made history…literally. We achieved something that, for now, has never been achieved by anyone else. The experience was incredible, unfathomable, and surreal. And while I had someone dear and special to share it with (my precious wife and one of our daughters, to be specific), having it occur at the anniversary of my dad’s passing made me feel his absence far more than usual.
I miss you, Pop. I still love you deeply. Hopefully, you’re aware of all that I’ve accomplished. Hopefully I’ve made you proud. Over the weekend, in a place so steeped in history, I helped add to that history. I was set upon this path in part because you bought me a little guitar when I was six years old, taught me a few chords, and saw to it that music was a part of my life. I hope you know how thankful I am. I love you, Pop.