Two years ago, on Veteran's Day, my dad died.
It's been two years and I'm still having a hard time.
The strangest things will trigger a memory of him. Sometimes it's a song on the radio. Other times it's something in a store or an article in a magazine. But old guys with long beards and a slightly grumpy look on their face are the biggest triggers. The smell of old leather and gun oil will do it too.
I watched an old episode of Bones the other night. It was the one where Hodgins and Angela were going to get married. Billy Gibbons plays Angela's dad. It was actually really difficult for me to watch the scenes between Mr. Gibbons and Hodgins. His appearance, his silence, his stare, his eventual few carefully chosen words. They all reminded me so much of my dad.
I've really been thinking about him a lot this past week.
His birthday was just nine days ago. November 2nd.
November used to be a pretty awesome month for me. Dad's birthday, Danger's birthday, my birthday, Thanksgiving...
I lost the last three years of my father's life because of egos and circumstances out of my control. I lost them, and I will never get them back.
That is a feeling that escapes description. That is a feeling that I will take to my own grave.
My dad had his faults. I'm not denying that.
But he was my dad. And I loved him.
I loved him when I didn't want to, when I was madder than hell at him. When I wished more than anything I could stop loving him so his leaving wouldn't hurt anymore.
But I couldn't.
And it did.
I was Daddy's girl. The oldest, and the only girl.
God, I miss him so much.
What I wouldn't give for one last hug. One last goodbye. One last, "Uh huh. Love you too."