They always tell you to prepare for the worst. After you got sick I was hearing left and right that I should prepare myself. Even you told me I should always be ready for if things took a turn for the worst. What I learned from that is that it just isn't possible. You can tell yourself that it will be hard, you can do everything in your power to imagine what life will be like after the fact, but it is never the same. You can never actually prepare for that pain you will go through, because you won't know the hurt, the emptiness or the sadness until it happens.
Most days the smallest things remind me of you. A song on the radio, or the car that passed me on the left that I remember was your favorite car. Some days I smile. I smile because you're making sure I know you're with me, and because we've shared so many amazing memories. From the day I was born, I have always been your number one priority. People would tell me constantly that I was your whole world. You would do anything and everything for me. You always had to make sure I was taken care of and happy. Granted that's a job as a father, you would go above and beyond, and I will forever cherish the 22 years we had together.
Other days I cry. I cry because I will never hear your voice or feel your hug again. You won't be able to walk me down the aisle. You won't be able to hold your grandchildren. But I don't say you won't be there. I know you'll be watching over every event in my lifetime, good or bad, cheering me on, and giving the strength to do and be all that I want to be, the way you always did.
We've had so many great times, but I can't help but want more. It sounds selfish of me, but as your only child, you were my first love. I can't help but want you here with me. Every day I always wait for my phone to ring and for you to be on the other end of it. I'll call your landline every so often just to hear your voice on the answering machine.
On the other hand, I know you were hurting. I know every day was a battle just to get out of bed in the morning. Even breathing was a chore. So I'm at peace with the fact you're up in Heaven, breathing freely, driving a red '62 Corvette through the clouds.
Now, my only option is to let the grieving process take its course. I think of grief as the ocean. Some days, the waves are uncontrollable and violent. Other days, the waves are small and bearable. The thing grief and the ocean have in common is that the waves are always continuous, no matter how big or small they may be, that feeling is always still there. I know I did everything I possibly could to make sure you were comfortable and happy towards the end. I did all that I could to make sure you knew how loved you are.
So thank you for the best beginning years of my life. I will always value the friendship you gave me, everything you have done for me, and all the love we shared.
I love you always.