These Are the Things I Wish I Could Ask You

Sometimes I feel like I can’t hear your voice.

Like there’s a barrier between us preventing me from hearing the sweet words come out of your mouth and fill up my heart.

Some days, I feel like I forget what you looked like. I could never, though — how could I?

Your image is ingrained into my memory for all of eternity, and I’m reminded of your beauty through the endless pictures and videos I’m fortunate enough to still have.

But there are moments, fleeting moments, where it feels so long without seeing the physicality’s of your face that the thought of losing you all over again prevents my heart from beating.

My mind shuts down.

Am I forgetting you?

Are our memories fading with each passing moment among the numbered days?

I could never forget you, but sometimes it feels like forgetting would be easier than remembering.

There’s a beauty in remembrance, but there’s also a sharp pain that stabs at my heart every time I realize new memories will never be created with you.

I remember the way you used to hug me and kiss my forehead when I walked through your front door.

I remember the way we used to laugh at the dinner table sharing in some of our favorite dishes of manicotti and lobster bisque.

I remember the quiet moments where we’d sit on the couch together watching whatever was playing on TV. Just admiring the peacefulness of each other’s company.

I remember the talks we’d have.

The simple talks about our day.

And the long, fulfilling, deep conversations about our lives.

The ones where’d you tell me your plans of moving down to Myrtle Beach so you could golf year-round and have a special home for your kids to come visit. You always said the only things you needed in this life were your kids, a golf club, and a guitar.

When you asked about my goals, you’d remind me of the faith you had in my ability to succeed, and how you’d love and support me no matter where I was at or what I was doing.

I remember the phone calls. The daily phone calls. The constant phone calls that sometimes made me roll my eyes.

I wish you were here to give me a reason to roll my eyes again.

It’s been too long without your earthly presence. It feels like you’ve been gone an eternity, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday I was saying “See you tomorrow, Dad.”

Are you happy?

Are you at peace?

Are you reunited with my brother? Was he shocked to see you?

What about your Dad? Have you seen any of your friends?

These are the questions I wish you could answer for me.

Selfishly, however, I wish you could answer me this —

What was going through your mind when you took your last breath? Were you scared? Were you in pain?

What were some of the best memories you could remember?

If you could’ve had one final, sound conversation with me…what would you have said?

What advice would you have given to your daughter who was about to embark on the rest of her life without a father?

What would you say to your son who was starting a career in the Marine Corps, taking after his Dad’s footsteps in serving our country?

What about your ex-wife who gave up so much to continue to care for you far into your sickness?

What about all your brothers and sisters? Or your mother, who never fathomed she’d see the day where she’d lose her first-born?

Dad, how could you have prepared me for this?

Would you tell me that I did everything I could? Or is it true that I could’ve been better?

I find myself feeling guilty for the nights I spent frustrated.

The nights where I was so angry that you couldn’t understand. That your brain was too sick to see all that was going on around you.

The days where I so desperately needed the Dad who had been by my side for almost 19 years…but you were gone.

You were gone long before the cancer physically took you from this Earth.

What was the last thing you saw before you took your final breath?

Some days, I feel like I can’t hear you.

Like there’s a barrier preventing me from being able to feel the grace of your presence from above the clouds.

This barrier is my refusal to acknowledge the fact that I’ve lost my Dad for the rest of my life, and its chokehold is weighing me down.

Will it always be like this?

Will it ever be okay?

These are the things I wish I could ask you.

I love you, and I miss you,

That’s all I wish you would say.