Dear Troll, It has only been 4 months since you left this earth but I feel like I've lived a lifetime without you. Cody found my phone from 2012 and thankfully you left me a ton of voicemails from then too. Many of them, grocery lists or grandeous ideas that popped into your head in the wee hours of the morning. You called me "Princess" a lot in those voicemails. I think I remember giving you shit around that time, saying that you used to call me Princess all of the time but as soon as I started turning into a woman you stopped and only called me "Punk" - I knew the love was the same in both names. Thank you for bringing Princess back in those voicemails. Hearing you say it broke me, but also filled me with your love even though you've been gone for four months.
I was wrapping presents last night, writing "From Dad" on several from Bryce to his girls, and writing Dad over and over and over brought me to tears. It made me think about the holidays and how we really were not a traditional family at all. Gramma helped keep some traditions, from half eaten peanut butter jars to her delicious powder cookies, but outside of that our only tradition was the lack of tradition. I remember wanting to make or give you something so bad every year. I guess I understood the love language of gift giving even back then. We rarely had wrapping paper, just newspaper and electrical tape but I would eagerly wrap up whatever I made you, tape it sparingly because electrical tape was like gold in our lives, and then I'd write on it "To Dad" - I was always so excited for you to open it. To be proud, to be happy.
Looking back I can't really remember what I did make for you, or buy for you. I think there were a few pocket knives, some sweet treats, and something creative and artsy. A coworker noted how lovely my art business success is and said "and you were just a little Talkeetna girl" - I chimed in "who used to pain on conks!" - Some kids would get excited by their parent bringing home games, toys, snacks, puppies, etc., but I would get so excited when you brought me a new conk to color on.
I am broken today. I was broken yesterday too. I don't know what triggers grief to hit so hard one day, and be mere background music other days, but I wish I could talk to you about it. I wish I could give you an awkward hug that always turned into a tiny battle of pinches and squeezes. I wish I could hear you say your letter to me out loud. Thank you for writing it for me. It breaks my heart thinking about how scared or sad you must have been writing these words, but thank you for doing it. I know being vulnerable was hard for you. "It's okay, it's okay. I had a good life. Now it's time to see the big show. So don't be sad. Your dad will be in good hands. I want you to be happy. So TAKE NO SHIT. Money doesn't make you happy. Food, water, shelter, and a dog is all you need... A few good friends. Love, Dad."
I want to be happy too dad, and for the most part, I am. My life is magic and in those moments of pure joy, I hit the wall of grief so damn hard because I wish you could see it.. or if you can, I wish I could see your pride. I never realized how much I sought your approval and to make you proud. Gail mentioned that, after you passed, that brother and I are such ambitious people because we just wanted to hear you say "I am proud of you, kid."
You showed it in many ways. I know you didn't have that when you were a kid. You just heard what you did wrong, you only saw that you weren't enough. You were. I wish someone would have told you that when you were just a boy. You deserved that. We all do. I found another letter from you, and remember that you wrote it in my journal, after a page I wrote about feeling alone, feeling like I wasn't good enough, feeling grief. I think I was 15, and the darkness that infected our story at that time was consuming me. I was a punk but I wanted so badly to just be your princess again. You wrote on the next page: "You will always be my princess and I am proud of you. I brag about you to all my friends. By the time I see you, I am tired. So I am sorry about that. I would give my life for you. I am getting old and had you late in my life. But, I love you, now and forever. Dad. Slimy pike and lily pads."
I hope to see you in my dreams soon dad. Visit me. We can take out the boat just as the sun starts to shine and we'll peacefully row out into the still waters. We'll share a coffee and cast our lines in search a pike. You can get upset with me when you lose the fish without my help at all. I will make fun of you for being ridiculous. We'll row and explore the waters until the rest of the world wakes up. I miss you.
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