Dear Dad,
It's been eight years. Eight years since I've heard your laugh. Seen your strut down the dock. Listened to your crazy stories. Or felt your hugs.
So much has changed since then. You've gained a son in law you've never met, and daughter in law you already knew and loved. And you're a grandpa now. You're the Grandpa Sluiter. The Papa Steve. It's a coveted title. Makes me hurt just thinking about how you never got to meet and hold your grand-babies. You have five of them. And an amazing two more miracles on the way. It's incredible how our family has changed in so many fantastic ways. And incredible how hard it is to not have you share it with all of us.
My Kyrie has many of your characteristics. He loves to be silly and make people laugh. He is such a sweet, goofy little guy. He pulls the funniest faces like you did. He jokes all the time. And he has tight curls just like you did. And my Kingston is like you too, but in different ways. He is a teaser. He lives to tease his brother. Drives him crazy all the time. Just for fun. You did that too. Loved to tease. And he tinkers like you. He can sit and just play by himself and try to figure out how things work. He takes things apart and puts them back together. You would love them so much, dad. You would just love every inch of who they are, like I do. You would love to chase them and tickle them. You would love to hear their belly laughs. I can picture it.
I just wish so much that I had the memories to go along with those mental pictures. I wish so much that they knew you. And knew what it was like to be loved by you.
And I'm having another boy. He is due in November. Another Sluiter boy is just what this world needs, right? If you could put your hand on my stomach, you could feel him kick. He's such a mover. It's amazing. I talked to Gram about the day you were born. She said it was wonderful because you were her first baby that she got to leave the hospital with on time. Your siblings were all premies and had to stay. If you were here I'd ask you to give Dave a pep talk about delivery. I tease him all the time that he might pass out. Mostly because deep down inside I think he might. And I'm pretty sure you would tease him about that during your pep talk. But he could take it.
I still have the urge to call you and tell you things. Like when we got our referral for the boys. Or when we found out I was pregnant. Or that we were having another boy. I always feel like there is somebody I am forgetting to tell. I miss you all the time. I hurt knowing that my stories and memories are all my boys will have of you. But I promise to keep telling them.
I love you dad. I miss you as much today as the day I had to say goodbye to you eight years ago. I still catch glimpses of you here and there. I get a feeling or a memory. Or sometimes a dream where we are together. And it fills me up. It gives me a peace in knowing how lucky I was to have you as my dad. And how lucky my boys are to have you as their grandpa. Even if it's just in pictures, and stories, and memories.
I love you more,
It's been eight years. Eight years since I've heard your laugh. Seen your strut down the dock. Listened to your crazy stories. Or felt your hugs.
So much has changed since then. You've gained a son in law you've never met, and daughter in law you already knew and loved. And you're a grandpa now. You're the Grandpa Sluiter. The Papa Steve. It's a coveted title. Makes me hurt just thinking about how you never got to meet and hold your grand-babies. You have five of them. And an amazing two more miracles on the way. It's incredible how our family has changed in so many fantastic ways. And incredible how hard it is to not have you share it with all of us.
My Kyrie has many of your characteristics. He loves to be silly and make people laugh. He is such a sweet, goofy little guy. He pulls the funniest faces like you did. He jokes all the time. And he has tight curls just like you did. And my Kingston is like you too, but in different ways. He is a teaser. He lives to tease his brother. Drives him crazy all the time. Just for fun. You did that too. Loved to tease. And he tinkers like you. He can sit and just play by himself and try to figure out how things work. He takes things apart and puts them back together. You would love them so much, dad. You would just love every inch of who they are, like I do. You would love to chase them and tickle them. You would love to hear their belly laughs. I can picture it.
I just wish so much that I had the memories to go along with those mental pictures. I wish so much that they knew you. And knew what it was like to be loved by you.
And I'm having another boy. He is due in November. Another Sluiter boy is just what this world needs, right? If you could put your hand on my stomach, you could feel him kick. He's such a mover. It's amazing. I talked to Gram about the day you were born. She said it was wonderful because you were her first baby that she got to leave the hospital with on time. Your siblings were all premies and had to stay. If you were here I'd ask you to give Dave a pep talk about delivery. I tease him all the time that he might pass out. Mostly because deep down inside I think he might. And I'm pretty sure you would tease him about that during your pep talk. But he could take it.
I still have the urge to call you and tell you things. Like when we got our referral for the boys. Or when we found out I was pregnant. Or that we were having another boy. I always feel like there is somebody I am forgetting to tell. I miss you all the time. I hurt knowing that my stories and memories are all my boys will have of you. But I promise to keep telling them.
I love you dad. I miss you as much today as the day I had to say goodbye to you eight years ago. I still catch glimpses of you here and there. I get a feeling or a memory. Or sometimes a dream where we are together. And it fills me up. It gives me a peace in knowing how lucky I was to have you as my dad. And how lucky my boys are to have you as their grandpa. Even if it's just in pictures, and stories, and memories.
I love you more,
2 comments:
I love you.
Hugs little Momma. Jeri
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