Dad, I got done pumping gas today, looked up and saw an advertisement that read "$1.29, the meaning of life in the morning." It was a cup of coffee-any size. It made me laugh. After all of these years I finally found what the world considers an aspect of the true meaning of life. Truth be told, the meaning of my life is Jeremy and I's family, our two little girls; Peaches Pie and Bambi Butter King, my career-my God given purpose that has carried me over over thirteen years now with financial independence that I often don't feel worthy of, my education and constant thirst for knowledge; holding a "sophisticated," conversation with intelligent people, adding substance and value to interactions, being curious and bold enough to ask questions. Above all God. Did you know when I was little I would pray to God? I remember when you and mom had Emma and I bury a statue in the front yard of the duplex in Queens. You guys had us say a prayer or maybe it was a scripture. I'm not sure what happened after we buried that statue and I wonder if all of these years later if it is still there hopefully being a blessing to another family. They say God speaks to His children the most. So I wonder if that is why I would stay up late at night and talk to Him. I'd pray that you would be around for my wedding day. Guess it makes sense why every boyfriend was "The One." I think I would've married anyone just to have you there. Well, God did not answer those prayers and he didn't answer many others that I prayed. So, should I be mad at Him? Should I stop believing in His power of strength and healing? Nope. Because every time I look back I see Him, in the smallest way, lowest voice and constant push forward when forward did/does not seem possible. When you were at home in hospice, you stopped drinking liquids, every now and then you'd get a dab of the wet sponge but it was clearly not enough. Could you see James with his bible standing over your bed, reading to you? Back then I only knew a small fraction of the book of John. When it was my turn to spend time I'd open up the book of John, read it to myself and try to make sense of it, sharing only what felt relevant. You had at least 2 of your children praying Jesus over you Dad. The night you passed I fell asleep next to your hospice bed on the big bed. I got up to get a drink of water but before I left the room I kissed your forehead and said "it's okay Daddy, you can let go now, I love you." I left the room, got my drink out of the fridge, sat on the couch in the living room with my feelings- not intending to fall back asleep but I did and when I woke you were gone.
Well it's been ten years. That conversation you had with me before your condition went from bad to worse-well-you couldn't have been more on target but I assure you Dad, just like you knew I would, I'm okay-even when I'm not. I often think of how lucky I was to be where you were when you passed. So many people don't get that chance, like the chance you had to be by Grandma Gloria's side during her final moments. At least that's how I remember it. The holiday's are around the corner and sometimes I get an email from one of your old buddies up north with pictures of you and fellow officers. Those are great photos. Big belly and big smile (with seriously cool eyebrows)! Thank you for keeping Peaches and I safe in March and help us move forward with whatever comes of the suit. Please say hello to Anthony for me. Til we see each other again, be at peace. We love you.