Dear Dad,

I know I have written you half a dozen times and each time I can't find what to say. I have more questions than actual statements but all I want to know is why? Why did God have to take you? I know you were in pain and I probably am being selfish for asking for you back but damn it, that's all I want.

Do you remember playing in the yard? Throwing the football and jumping on the trampoline, just having the time of our lives. When I fell, you were always there to clean the dirt out of my cut and kiss my cheek. Sometimes I dream about being that little girl again when you and mom were happy and it was just fairy tales and real life couldn't touch us.

I remember being fourteen and receiving the news from you. That nasty c-word that came across your lips cut me far deeper than any knife ever could. Cancer. Are you freaking kidding me? CANCER!!!! The word kills me even today. You are worth more than biting it from a vicious disease that is the equivalent to the devil himself.

The day you died I.....I remember it so clearly. You looked so calm. This was the first time I had ever seen you off the machines. So, so cold. I waited and waited and waited for you to say my name, to squeeze my hand, just something! But you didn't. You never would again.

You were taken from me. But I knew you needed to go home. You needed to leave your body and the pain. But I just wish I could hear you say one more time, "I am so proud of you Jazz." And dad, you would be so, so proud. I am doing everything you told me I could.

I wish you could see it.


Your first-born baby girl