Sara woke up this morning and realized that a post she'd written and scheduled last week automatically went live earlier. It wasn't intended for today, so I've taken it down.
This is something Sara wrote last night. She didn't write it for us; she didn't write it for her blog. But she gave me permission to post it. Sara wants this day to be filled with nothing more than thoughts of her dad---the man who's had her heart her entire life. And the words she wrote last night seem perfectly fitting for that.
-Alece
My dad's funeral is today.
My dad died.
My dad's funeral is today.
My dad died.
I keep rehearsing these words in my mind because every time they start to develop on my tongue the taste of nausea creeps in.
They make me dizzy. Like someone has pushed me into an alternate universe where the gravity is slightly off. Just enough to trick you into thinking you are standing on stable ground only to discover you're falling by an ever-so-gradual measure.
My dad died.
This hero of a man.
Not a giant... Giants are unreachable. Not perfect... Perfect is unattainable. A hero. A faithful man. A kind soul. A man with eyes that sparkle with mischief and compassion and empathy and inside jokes.
This loving man died.
He called me baby doll.
Not hearing those words from him again sounds like a sheath being torn in two... Leaving a gaping space where words belong.
His words. His sayings.
"I'll get your neckers."
"Oh, I'm about two in a hill."
"It's a long way from your heart."
"How's my baby doll doing today?"
That laugh. That laugh at his own jokes that were only funny to him, but funny to us because they came from him.
Those nicknames. The terms of endearment. Anyone can call you by your given name. He believed you were special enough to be given an original.
I was his Gitzen Girl.
My dad's funeral is today.
MY DAD LIVED.