Dear Dad,

Ten months after you fell over backwards while dancing with Mom and instantly died of unknown causes, I birthed a baby boy. Jack was okay with naming him after you, although it caused a great stink in his family- he was the eldest son of an eldest son of an eldestson all named John and I guess I was expected to follow suit. But you know me, I never did what was expected of me, lol.

Oh, just so you know, lol means laugh out loud. My kids taught me that. I have three-- I couldn't do the Zero Population Growth thing after all. I loved growing up with an older brother and a younger sister and it didn't feel right to stop at two when it came to forming my own family unit. Heck, the world needs middle children, haha.

You met little Cassie. I remember how proud I was when you came to her baptism. I insisted she wear your baptismal gown. We pulled it out a few weeks ago and she admired it. "My kids are going to wear it, too," she said, stroking its fragility. "You would have loved my Dad," I sighed.

I always sigh when I speak of you. Everybody does. We love Ray, Mom's husband of 18 years- time has a way of fast forwarding. But we all sigh when we remember you.

Sometimes I am convinced you are my kid's guardian angel. Things happen that would have been worse except for intervention from above. Craig and Jan have observed similar miracles.

When Lexie was little, she used to talk about you being in heaven. It was like she awoke from having visited you there. She scared me once, because I thought she was going to give up and join you! She had a very difficult time growing up. She had a table fall on her head and knock out her teeth. It makes me weep inside to remember her broken little mouth. But she emerged a compassionate young woman, strong and even brave.

Daddy, in three years I will be as old as you when you died. I have a similar body type and I even have those little red marks on my stomach that you had. They never really figured out why you died. You were looking good and yet Mom said you had a bit of trouble hiking up a hill in Hawaii on that final vacation. We go over it and over it in our hearts sometimes. Why did you have to die so suddenly, so young?

I watch my in-laws age and wonder if it takes a bit of mean to grow old.

It took me ten years to come to terms with your death. I miss you still. Even though I talk to you in my mind, I cannot hear your voice over the phone. I cannot hug you and catch that flash of golden crown as you smile your huge, toothy smile.

I think about you whenever I hear that a space shuttle has launched. (I found out too late for the eulogy that you designed the manual stick allowing Armstrong to land on the moon. Why didn't you tell us?) Remember that tearful call I made the day the Challenger exploded? You hadn't heard the news. "Was that the one with the teacher?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

Dad, things haven't turned out the way I intended. I meant to experience a love like you and Mom shared. But Jack and I are not the same people; we fight and upset the kids.. We have forged a truce and I think we will make it. But my kid's childhoods were not secure like mine. And I wasn't subservient like Mom. We didn't have dinner every night at 6pm sharp.

Still, the kids turned out amazing. They are so funny and bright and filled with love. My biggest sadness is their lack of you. I tried to keep you alive in stories, though. You were my support system, my role model, my D the D. I would have liked to have you in my kid's life, as Grampa.

I know now that you weren't perfect. You tried to be and thought it even possible. I can forgive you for laying this on me. I can even forgive you for dying, Dad. I guess it would have been hell, watching you shrivel up like Baba, Jack's Dad. I remember when you got bifocals. That pained me.

I have not come close to fulfilling my potential. I've fallen short on so many levels. Maybe it's a good thing you weren't around to see how far I fell.

But as a mother, well, raising three kids is where I focused my love and energy- with lots of help from above, including your watchful eyes and intervening hands.  I guess I was never much good on my own.

I love you, Dad.  Big hug.  And thanks for everything.

See you in God's time.

Love, B the B