Hi Daddy. It's been only six weeks without you, and I still forget at times that you are not with us anymore. I had been preparing for that day for past two years, ever since the first day you were diagnosed with Leukemia. I thought I would be ready to say goodbye and let you go. I thought that the dread of losing you would have been the worst part, but the emptiness that is in your place now is so much worse than any of the anticipation was. Although the last two weeks of watching you die were so very hard, I am so glad I got to spend those last days with you. The other day I was retrieving old archived voice mail messages, and listened to your voice. It was so comforting to know that in some way you existed, even though it was only digitally. The voice mail box would not give me the option to resave it. I lost it at work, crying... it was as if I once again was unable to do anything to keep you from slipping away. Living in a different part of the country, I can now often fool myself that you are at the house, going about your business, doing things with Mommy-- hiking and biking. Then someone says something to bring the whole mess to reality again, and I grieve all over as if it just happened moments before. I am able to forget the nightmare at times, but I know Mommy doesn't. She is in the house that you both lived in together, and is constantly, painfully aware that you are missing. I don't know what to do. I promised you that we would keep her out of a slump, and help her to move on, and get out. It is so hard to do from 5 states away. She stayed down here for two weeks, but wanted to go back, and now doesn't leave the house much at all. She's depressed and misses you so much. You were such a tremendous part of her life, that it is as if a part of her has died with you. We've postponed the wedding, and I am not looking forward to not having you there to give me away at the alter when we reschedule it. It will be very hard, and I'm not sure who I will have in your place. No one can replace you. I am still angry, not at you of course, but at Leukemia. I am going to ride in the century bike ride for Leukemia in November, and will hopefully raise enough money to play a role in helping another family from losing their dad or mom. I love you, and miss you more than words can say. Your daughter, M

I Miss My Dad

Hi Daddy. It's been only six weeks without you, and I still forget at times that you are not with us anymore. I had been preparing for that day for past two years, ever since the first day you were diagnosed with Leukemia. I thought I would be ready to say goodbye and let you go. I thought that the dread of losing you would have been the worst part, but the emptiness that is in your place now is so much worse than any of the anticipation was.

Although the last two weeks of watching you die were so very hard, I am so glad I got to spend those last days with you. The other day I was retrieving old archived voice mail messages, and listened to your voice. It was so comforting to know that in some way you existed, even though it was only digitally. The voice mail box would not give me the option to resave it. I lost it at work, crying... it was as if I once again was unable to do anything to keep you from slipping away. Living in a different part of the country, I can now often fool myself that you are at the house, going about your business, doing things with Mommy-- hiking and biking. Then someone says something to bring the whole mess to reality again, and I grieve all over as if it just happened moments before. I am able to forget the nightmare at times, but I know Mommy doesn't. She is in the house that you both lived in together, and is constantly, painfully aware that you are missing. I don't know what to do. I promised you that we would keep her out of a slump, and help her to move on, and get out. It is so hard to do from 5 states away. She stayed down here for two weeks, but wanted to go back, and now doesn't leave the house much at all. She's depressed and misses you so much. You were such a tremendous part of her life, that it is as if a part of her has died with you.

We've postponed the wedding, and I am not looking forward to not having you there to give me away at the alter when we reschedule it. It will be very hard, and I'm not sure who I will have in your place. No one can replace you. I am still angry, not at you of course, but at Leukemia. I am going to ride in the century bike ride for Leukemia in November, and will hopefully raise enough money to play a role in helping another family from losing their dad or mom. I love you, and miss you more than words can say. Your daughter, M

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