There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of my father. Even after almost 32 years since his passing at the young age of 50, he’s still always on my mind and in my heart.
I’ve been talking to him all of these years, because I truly believe that he listens to me prattle on about this and that.
He’s shown me a few signs that he’s still around, especially when I specifically ask for guidance. (He’s been on call 24/7 these last few months.)
He still has the power to help give me the love and strength that I need to keep on fighting.
I visited his grave for the first time in years last week with my new boyfriend. I dropped to my knees and started to cry, brushing the grass and dirt from his gravestone. The cemetery crew does an excellent job of keeping everything tidy, but I just felt compelled to trace his name with my fingers.
Happy Fathers Day! Remember, if it wasn’t for them, none of us would be here.
(And not all men are assclowns.)