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I Miss My Dad

I wish I could call you and talk about my game this weekend. You could tell me what you think I should do, and that you believe in me. We could meet up for lunch and talk about the news, and the family. You could watch me play on Saturday and cheer for me. After the game we could have a beer, and you could tell me that I made a great tackle. Dad, I miss you, and it still hurts. There is a big whole in me that you were supposed to fill, but you died. How can I advise myself? The family is falling apart, and we are all too stubborn to talk. I wish that you hadn’t died dad, I was twelve years old, and I needed you. I still need you. Everyone expects me to be this mature adult nowadays, but I didn’t have you around enough to show me how. I never had an example to follow. I am so angry that you aren’t here, and there is nothing that I can do. These feelings come and go, but they are always there, ready to come back when I feel down. If you hadn’t loved me so much while you were around, then I wouldn’t miss you so much. Everyone says that I was lucky to have had so much love while you were alive, but that doesn’t make it any easier now. I miss you.

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