Hi Dad,

It’s been a week since we said goodbye. It is still surreal. I think some parts of my heart still don’t really believe it, but then I start to text or call, and the sting comes flooding back into my eyes. It’s true. The nightmare really happened. Now, time is playing tricks on me. It felt like the time in the ICU was a year-long, though it was only a few days. This week has flown by in a minute. It is a time warp, I am sure of it.

I made in through my first Friday lunch date without you. Peter and Adey invited me over to spend some time with Shepherd. They know his giggles lighten my heart no matter what is happening. We shared some hugs and some tears, and lots of smiles.

I am so glad you came to Shep’s 1^st birthday. I have the pictures that will now be a treasure, for me and for him. I am so happy he got to meet you and Mom and that you both got to meet him. I wish you’d had more time to get acquainted. I know as he grew, he would have loved you as much as we all do. You were always so good with kids. I think it was because you were a big kid yourself. He loves Mom’s sheep you gave him. He points to it after nap time and likes to play with it. I started to text you the picture of him playing with it, because I know that would make you happy, only to realize I couldn’t. Still, I think you know.

I’ve seen lots of winks from you. The birds are keeping me company. Some I have never seen before, but I know you know every one of them. I still have the birding book, so I could look them up but at the moment that requires more energy than I have. I am just enjoying watching them from the chair on my porch thinking about our times walking through the woods where you would point out different birds along the way. Or time on your porch, watching the bird feeder and noting which birds were there. We even did that in Mom’s room when you put the feeder right at the window so she could see them. I don’t have a feeder, but they are gathering around anyway. Thanks for sending them.

Kara also found the “note” you left, a scroll with ribbon tied around it. A copy of the blog I wrote in 2009 about integrating family treasures into our own homes. It was from when you were downsizing but it could have been about now. We were at your apartment to sort everything into piles for the grandkids. It was feeling very hard. Then she found that note and the words I wrote all those years ago lightened the heaviness of the task. You are still rescuing me, even now.

The sympathy cards I have received have all been butterfly themed. Friends gave me sunflowers. Students gave me bouquets that look like wildflowers. Each little nod is a hug from you reminding me that you are healed and with Mom. I can’t be sad about that. I am only sad for the hole I have in my heart. The silence of my phone. The conversations we won’t have. The past 7 years, during Mom’s illness, we have been together pretty constantly. How will I fill those times? How will I fill my heart? Those are the questions that cannot be answered just yet. I know I will adjust. I also know I will never stop missing you. That’s all I have for today. I’ll write again tomorrow. Give Mom a hug for me. I love you, Dad.