In Honor of Father’s Day

Dear Dad,

I miss you.  So many mornings, I wake up with you on my mind, usually because you’ve decided to pay me a visit in a dream.  I’ll go through the following day wishing I could talk to you, just once more – even though talking was never our greatest strength.  I tell myself if I had the chance, I’d tell you everything I never had the opportunity to say before you died.

I’d tell you how sorry I am that you got sick.  I’d tell you how sorry I am that you had to struggle through seven years of such a miserable disease.  I’d tell you how devastating it was for me to know that you were living with lost dignity, while your body slowly shut itself down, along with your mind.

I’d tell you how much I loved you – even though I struggled with saying it out loud.  I’d tell you how much I continue to love you, after you’re gone.  I’d tell you how much I wish you could’ve died at home.  I wish you could have spent your final days in the place you loved the most, where you were always the happiest and most content.

I hope you’re playing your guitar, healthy and whole, smiling that signature smile that so many people remember and describe with fondness.  I hope your music echoes through the stillness and the silence of my dreams, so that a part of me can hear you while I’m sleeping.

More than anything, I’d love to know that you forgive me.  I’d love to know that you understand – everything I was feeling and experiencing during those seven years, I hope you know it ALL.  Everything I couldn’t tell you then, because I was hiding in my own darkness, lost in my own ways of coping through avoidance and distraction, and selfishly distancing myself further away from you the sicker you became.  I wasn’t strong enough to be present.  I wasn’t strong enough to be there for you the way I should have been.  And this will haunt me always.

Please do something for me… Always continue to visit me from time to time.  Look in on me, see how I’m doing, and find little ways to let me know you’re still with me.  Can you do that for me, Dad?  In return, I’ll do something for you.  I will search for joy and happiness in the littlest, simplest things, the way you did.  I won’t ever settle.  I will live each and every day with pride in my heart that you were my father, and I was your little girl.

Love from your daughter,


5 thoughts on “In Honor of Father’s Day

  1. Dayle Dabney

    I just visited with your mom amid the humming birds outside of Oakland where she was house sitting. She told me about your blog. Great!……I am curious about this because Meghan and I each have wanted to have our own blog. Give me a few hints as to how you got this started….Send to………Thanks………..Your mom is excited about her upcoming visit to Oregon………Enjoy the time together…….Dayle

  2. Kristian

    Beautifully written, Molly! Tears are streaming down my face as I write this comment. I didn’t know your father, but from the little I have learned about him through your writing, I am certain that he knows how much you love him. How much you loved him while he was alive, and how much you love him now. He would probably tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for, but would forgive you just to put your mind at ease. I wish I could give you a big hug right now! 🙂

    • Molly

      I can actually feel your hug. 🙂 You are such a sweet, insightful soul, and I’m so thankful for your thoughts. Thank you so much!! The other Kristen can tell you, my dad was extremely quiet… Very shy. But ever so kind. People loved being around him, even if he didn’t say anything – he was just a comforting presence. xoxo

  3. Marianne Green

    What a lovely, heartfelt tribute to your father for Father’s Day and everyday! I. too, lost my “father” when I was 15 years old and it is my life’s greatest regret–that my “dad” didn’t know me as an adult; ever meet my children. He was such a guiding influence to me and I was never able to tell him, to say good-bye…The gentle man who raised me as his own was my step-grandfather. It was the two of us against the world. He has been gone 56 years now and I still miss him .
    I share your sentiments and admire your never-ending devotion for the man who is always our first love–our dad!

    • Molly

      Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Green. I feel like we have this loss in common, as what you have described are also some of my exact thoughts – verbatim. Those feelings never really go away, I don’t think… We just learn to cope, we adapt, and we get used to the ever-present grief. I LOVE that you had such an amazing papa bear in your life!! Always our first love, and how we learn our way. xoxo

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