after all because I haven’t stopped missing you since you died. I keep replaying our goodbye. I see you suffering. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, just enough that I could see the pale blue mixed with hazel. Just enough to make it seem like you were still there in your mind. Then I wonder... were you? Could you feel my touch? Could you feel your pain? You must have. Your breathing was so labored, and the sweat on your forehead showed how much you were struggling. Was the morphine helping? I hope so.
I think a big part of grief is the pain and realization that we’ll never fully understand death in our lifetime, only afterward. I hope that I get to see you someday, or that our energy reconnects when my time comes. Then again... I don’t think your energy will ever disconnect from me. Life is strange. And so is death.
Your cabin is almost done. It breaks my heart to even write that. I regret not pushing harder to get you there sooner. Did you know you wouldn’t make it to the cabin? Could you feel the end coming? I could hear it in your voice, and it pained me. Maybe, deep down, I knew too. Was the cabin an attempt to heal a wound that hadn’t even opened yet? Bryce is excited about the cabin, and I feel bad that I can’t share in his excitement. I bought that cabin for you—for my dad who was sick and hurting. But now... my dad no longer needs the cabin.
Even though that plan didn’t come to life, I have these dream-like memories of what it would’ve been like if you were here. I find myself creating these experiences that never happened. I imagine you sitting by the window, in your recliner with a blanket over your lap. You look weak, but there’s a smile in your eyes as you watch the swans and birds in the yard. I’m outside feeding them in the sunshine, and you’re watching me in my happy place. I smile and wave at you, and you stick your tongue out at me with that funny look of yours. I always knew you were saying “I love you” when you did that. It was just on the tip of your tongue, but you’d rather show me. I always felt your love.
I can’t quite explain how it felt when I knew you were really leaving. I had been preparing emotionally for six years, but I had never been so close to death before. Everyone else who has passed in my life had always been distant—both in life and in death. Usually, grief is just a phone call away, but your passing was right in front of me, and it hit differently.
Having you in my life was my normalcy. Taking care of you was my purpose. I’m not ready to say that I did my job and now need to find a new purpose. I’m not ready for you to be gone.
I see you everywhere—not just in moments, triggers, or photographs. I truly see you, as if you were still standing in front of me. It’s like there’s a transparent image of you always held up to my face. Life is still moving behind you in full color, but there you are, from another time. In the first few days, I saw you in the hospital—those moments that terrified me the most. Your eyes rolled back, eyelids shaking. Your pupils would sometimes become visible but in opposite directions. They were dull and cloudy. Could you even see? Were you aware of the light, the colors, the shapes around you? Or were you already seeing what’s next for us?
I often see the black bile flooding from your mouth, pouring down your chin onto your chest. That scared me. My mind raced, but I quickly pulled myself together for you. If it was terrifying for me, it must have been so much worse for you. Was it? The nurses took care of you quickly, suctioning it all away. I think you breathed more easily afterward. Did that feel better for you, or were you simply comforted by the care and love you were receiving?
As time has passed, I’ve started seeing happier memories. From truck rides to appointments, and back to when we were younger. Right now, as I write this, I’m sitting by the creek in Willow. The water is swift but shallow. I see you there, in a trucker cap, cut-off shirt, blue jeans, and hip waders. You’re in your 30s, a cigar (or let’s be honest, probably a joint) hanging from your lip as you cast a line for salmon. I used to think our lifestyle was the norm. I thought everyone lived off the land like we did. Thank you for teaching me to see the world the way you did.
Life has been so busy lately, and all for good reasons. But with every high, every happy moment, I’m met with a deep longing. I want to call you or jump in the truck to tell you about all the exciting things happening in my life. My wraps are going places. There’s this huge shift happening in my career, and even though you didn’t fully understand it all, I know you’d be proud. Your creativity lives on through mine.
We had your celebration of life... and I’m positive you showed up (right at 4:20 PM, of course) to tell us all to go home. That gust of wind, blowing down tents and bringing rain on our heads—that was you. I’m sure of it.
For now, I keep moving through life, but every so often I’m hit with the realization that you’re gone, really gone. There is no “see you later” in this lifetime. But I’ll keep writing about you, about us, or sharing some of your own writings when I miss you the most.
Today, in my grief, I’m sharing a list of sayings you wrote down. You took great joy in coming up with these, and I cherish every word. I never want to forget the things I know about you. I love you, Dad.
Dad’s Sayings:
Rode hard and put away wet.
Cat’s out of the bag.
Epic.
If I see ya, I’ll see ya. If I don’t, I won’t.
Honey hole.
If bullshit were a penny a pound, I’d be a millionaire.
Jacked up.
Dinamo!
If you had a brain, you’d be dangerous.
Rippin’ it!
Gnarly!
Kinda sort of.
What’s up!?
Dingaling.
Get out!
Hit the road!
I got my ass handed to me.
Nick of time.
That’s money in the bank!
Look what the cat dragged in!
Catch you on the flip-flop!
Bizzaro!
Money talks, bullshit walks!
It’s bomb!
Make it here, or make it there.
Can’t fix stupid.
Shit the bed.
Easy come, easy go.
I got screwed with my pants on.
If I have to get the dish to get the cook, I’ll get the dish.
What the Farley?!
Too bad, too sad.
Don’t touch the stove when it’s hot!
Hog heaven.
Think before you speak.
Large and in charge!
Is a frog’s ass watertight?
It’s kinda sketch.
Chill pill.
Knock yourself out!
Play it by ear.
What’s the plan, Stan?
Brutal!
Holy moly!
You’re a dime.
Thorn in my ass.
Whack job.
Handier than a shirt pocket.
One foot in the grave, the other on a banana peel.
Don’t be craning your neck!
Holy mackerel!
Sierra Winter Artwork by Sierra Winter www.artworkbysierrawinter.com
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