My Father's Daughter

Dear Dad, 

I've worn many hats in my life--daughter, student, airman, wife, mother, nana, grandma, sister, veteran, retiree, Christian, and friend, to name just a few.  Some of those I still wear, others I have put away, and still others just plain don't fit anymore...but the one I miss wearing the most, the one that hurts every time I look at it, is being your daughter.  Not that I am no longer your daughter--that will always be a part of me.  And a very important part of me at that.  You helped make me who I am today, you shaped me and formed me, and you knew me.  

But now what?  Since you died just last month, I have experienced more emotions than I knew possible.  From raw, gut-wrenching pain, to numbness to disbelief and back to heartache.  I go through my days, my weeks, and think of you and talk about you and think I am fine, and then, BAM! I am awash in such an overwhelming sense of loss I can barely think.  I miss you, so so much--and at the weirdest, most random moments.  Today I was driving back from an appointment and was about to call you about a funny sign I saw, and to have someone to talk to (and to listen to me) on the ride home.  I activated the bluetooth and was about to press your preset speed dial on the car dash, and I stopped...suddenly realizing you wouldn't answer any more with your characteristic, sarcastic tone. No more phone calls from you telling me about your day, or how bored you were, or telling me you loved me and missed me and that my call made your day.  No more rolling my eyes at your mispronounced words and you asking over and over (and over) the same questions.  No more will I get irritated because you don't seem to understand what I am saying.  And no more swelling with joy when you'd ask me "how's my favorite daughter?"  

So yes, I am still your daughter, but now that you are gone, I feel lost, and the title of daughter just seems empty and pointless.  Because the part that made me your daughter...you...are no longer here.  And that makes me sad.  Someone once told me "you don't really feel completely grown up until you lose a parent."  True.  So very true.  Up until December 6, I was your child, your daughter, a part of you, and you a part of me.  I just never realized how important a part you were, or how much you defined me.  Until you were gone.  

A wife without a husband is a widow, a student finished with school is a graduate, but a daughter without a father?  An orphan?  

I was not ready to let go of you.  I am not ready to put away that hat, to stop being your daughter.  

I am not sure I will ever be ready.

I love you, Dad.  

Barbara