This one's for you Dad.

10 years. 120 months. 520 weeks. 3650 days. 87600 hours. And I could go on and on. Nearly a 1/3 of my life has been spent without him in my life. I have a hard time fathoming that fact. How did ten years pass by so quickly? How did we make it a decade without him. I do believe the days get easier, but only because the heart, mind, and soul can not possibly survive in the initial place of despair forever. 10 years ago I was living in my little bubble. Our family as a whole had suffered loss, but it had been a few years and things were good. Dad had cut back on his side jobs and was able to spend more time doing things he enjoyed. He had recently lost weight and was feeling great. I know without a doubt the Summer before he died was a special gift from God. He gave us that gift so we would have recent, amazing memories of impromptu fishing trips where he didn't care if he personally caught a thing as long as we were having fun, a special trip to the Asheboro Zoo just cause his baby girl wanted to extend the weekend of Aunt Grace's 100th birthday, celebrating with the Rosage's at their anniversary party, celebrating our Church's 100th anniversary, tossing the softball in the yard and him pretending that my pitches burned his hand.

I only have one regret. Even though I was 22 years old, I wish I had the foresight to ask questions. About his childhood, favorite things, opinions on major topics, his dreams for me, his landscaping ideas, and the list goes on and on and grows daily.

In the past 10 years, I built a house in the field next to their house, also known as "Over the Mill" I got divorced. And in hindsight, he would have been ok with that. He would have worried, but he would have my back all the way.

I met Jeff, tasted true love, got married, gained a beautiful daughter, became a mother. Kevin finished college, began a career that he is passionate about, met a beautiful woman and he too, tasted true love. Dad would be beyond pleased.

I fought through a decade of infertility, he would understand that as well having fought along side Mom for years. Jeff and I began our adoption journey and were blessed beyond measure by Caleb Alexander. Dad would be captivated by his grandchildren. He would be gentle and playful. Perhaps standoffish at first, but he would be their biggest fan, and they would be his. I tell them both of him, and how he would have loved them, how he watched over them. Amber knows she will be able to meet him one day.

 Lots of big life changes in the last ten months, he really should have been here to witness them first hand. But who knows, I might have been to afraid to divorce when I did, afraid to disappoint, which would mean I wouldn't have Jeff, or Amber, or Caleb. Kevin may not have been driven to finish college, which would mean there would be no Laura. His accident could have been God's way of sparing him from being riddled with cancer. He was the only one of his siblings that had not been attacked by this disease, and I don't believe he would have been a good patient. Whatever the reason, it happened. And I believe it helps me to relate to others, be empathetic and understanding, and I am able to use my personal experience to help others in my daily job. I think that would make Dad proud.

I still meet people that knew him directly or indirectly, all have wonderful things to say of him. I think that is an amazing testament to a person. That after all this time, people still talk of his kindness and generosity to others, as well as his knowledge and expertise. I would love to hear him and Jeff talk - two fellow hockyologists.

I wish that he was still here. I wish Mom still had her best friend, her other half. I wish she could find someone to spend time with, not a replacement, just someone to make her feel special and beautiful. A companion. I think Dad would be ok with that too. He would want her to be happy even without him. Caleb has done amazing wonders for her spirit and I am grateful for that. But still.

Dad's life and death has made me who I am today. And I am ok with that.