While the date is February 1, what my heart remembered this morning was that it was in the very early hours of a Friday morning, in the middle of a big snowstorm, when I got the call that I never ever ever wanted to get- my mom calling to tell me that my dad had died. Heart attack. Just like that, he was gone. I went to bed the night before, and life was how it had been. The instant I heard the phone ring in that early morning, I knew it had all changed.
I’ve written in this blog before about how much I love my dad and how much I miss him. None of that has changed in the slightest in the past year. The tears may not come quite as often, but I think I actually miss him more with every passing day. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I have wanted to pick up the phone and call him, asking cooking advice or telling him the latest story of my escapades in DC. Just last night as I was talking to Ryan, I had a question that I knew my dad was the only person who would know the answer. Sometimes the thoughts and memories are slight nudges to my heart…that one was a full-on blow.
I thought a lot of my dad when I was standing in the huge crowd at President Obama’s inauguration (which I will post about soon, I promise), about how much I wish he could be there, about how happy he would be that Obama had won, about how proud he would be that he stood for Obama during the Iowa caucuses, and about how he had the opportunity to meet him when Obama attended a worship service at my parents’ church during the campaign. I know he was watching the whole thing, presumably with a much better view than me, but I so wanted him to be on the other end of the line with my mom when I called to tell her about my experience a few days after the event.
There’s not going to be a lot, if anything, that is easy about this weekend, but I am thankful I am able to travel to Iowa to be with my family there. So on a Sunday evening in Iowa, I’ll crack open a beer, watch the Super Bowl, and know my dad is doing the same thing where he is…all the while wishing with my whole being that he was sitting on the couch next to me.
I thought this morning about your phone call a year ago and know that this is all just so unbelievably hard – on these anniversaries and on the “everyday” days where nothing special happens except you have a question about your car and know your dad is the one to answer it. I wish he were there on the end of the phone line for you, too – and I’m glad you get to spend time with your family this weekend and doing something he would enjoy!
I sent you something in the mail, but you probably won’t get it until you get back to DC.