I had another post prepared for today, but I pulled it; it made me look too good.
I miss my dad, terribly so. He was everything I am not: consistent, strong, a good husband, good father, brave, and a harmonica player. He never lost his temper (that I saw), never cursed, and never let me know it if he ever worried. I was never ashamed of him, but was always proud to be his son.
It’s been 24 years since he died, and I’ve gone many an aniversary never even thinking about it. But this year is different; I wish he was here.
I don’t deserve any praise or gifts. I don’t even want any well-wishes. All I want is for this day to be over. I’m not worth celebrating.
Dad, I know you can’t hear me or read this, but I wish you were here. I need to talk, to hear some advice, to just go do something together. On the other hand, I’m glad you don’t have to see me like this; you’d probably wonder where you went wrong. Knowing you, you’d be proud of me for the things I’ve accomplished, but in your heart you’d be worried, and I’d be silently ashamed. Like I said, Daddy, I know you can’t read this, but thankfully, the next time we will meet I will have been transformed into the likeness of our Saviour, clothed in righteousness, and without fault. There will be no shame or regret, and then we can both give honor, together, to the only Father who is truly deserving of praise.