There was a man that stepped up to the plate once. He didn't need to. He wanted to because he loved my mother dearly. He helped me move into my home. He spent two Sundays in a row with me trying to put a Scandinavian entertainment center together with me. He saw a random coffee table book one day and bought it for me because he thought I might like it. I read it from front to back. I appreciated the gesture more than the book itself. One of his chairs sits in my living room because I fell in love with it. He gave it to me because he knew I would appreciate it more than him. I loved to ask him about his job. I would always try to see if he would accidentally tell me what he uncovered in the investigation of the Challenger. It was cool to have a rocket scientist for a father. He appreciated some of the funner stuff in life and wanted to spend it all with my mother. He took her on two or three vacations a year and spoiled her like no other man could. He walked my sister down the aisle. He taught me how to fix my plumbing but made me do it myself so I would know how the next time. He was more proud of me than I was the year I bought myself a set of socket wrenches for my birthday. I can't even tell you what he thought of me buying power tools. When I had a Peeping Tom problem he went out and bought me additional locks for my windows. He was my dad.
You know, I'm going to miss him forever. I haven't ever really written what he meant to me. I just stated the facts and then moved on (or at least tried to).
I am finally able to talk about it without crying which is a giant step for me. I just never thought anything could be quite as painful in life. A friend told me once that when a parent dies a part of you dies with him (or her). I'm starting to believe that. I am a million times better than I was a year ago but I will never be the same.
