dear dad...
One of my favorite quotes that I’ve stumbled upon in the last year reads “grief never gets any smaller, so you have to grow bigger around it”. Today marks one year since my father passed away. And although I know how I’ve grown around, outside, and within my own grief- it helps just a bit more to empty my head and share my heart every once in a while.
In this past year, I’ve realized how much I have to thank my dad for teaching me. He was the original creator of the nickname Sophie Kay, he taught me how to do mad eyes, & he is the reason I find comfort in luck. We would go to the base of Bradbury Mt. and search for what seemed like hours to find a four-leaf clover before we began our hike. Dad always said that we make our own luck in life, through hard work…and he was a shining example of that.
I’ve never met anyone with as much soul and raw energy that my father had and everyone who knew him would say the same. He had a fiery passion for who and what he loved. There was nothing that made me feel more special or free than sitting next to him in his truck on a Summer’s day, heading anywhere and blasting music and screaming lyrics I only half knew with the windows down.
It’s funny to me how much we think we know our parents. But in reality, we mostly only know the versions of themselves after we came into their lives. Following my dad’s death, I learned more about him and his character than ever before. As people told their stories, memories, and best moments with him, I found myself growing closer with who he was as a whole.
Now, as I look through old photographs, watch old videos, and replay voicemails I never thought would warm my heart so much, I gain a new understanding of the many ways my father loved me.
My dad was unconventional in every sense of the word. He was tattooed all over, bald & proud, and one hell of a workforce. As a kid I was proud that my dad was a contractor, I used to boast that he built houses all around town. I would have never known how much knowledge and passion would be soaked into me- how I’d appreciate truck rides I was stuffed in the back seat with tools and equipment, how I would ask to help roof a building for a little extra cash, and how I’d come to admire how cool CarHartt overalls are.
But through all of the unconventional and unpredictable ways of being a father, he held on so tight. Looking through old objects from his home, he kept practically every piece of paper I touched as a child. Everything I painted, every math test, and every loose sticky note saying '“ I love you Dad”. Things I would never remember I created, he kept.
Shown here today is a collection of tiny pieces of paper I wrote and placed in a box for him as a gift when I was 3 years old. It was found on his computer desk in his office and is a reminder to myself of how much he held me, and my sister, above all else.
“I like rides in your truck”
I was tempted to photoshop this picture so it was spelled correctly, but on second thought, I think it adds to the nostalgia of it all. My dad’s truck was like a symbol of him. I remember years passing by how it gradually became easier to climb inside. Exactly 6 months before he died, he picked me up in his truck and we went to the dump, at 8:00 in the morning, and blasted heavy metal out the windows. I remember laughing at the fact that I had probably the most unique of fathers, but now I look back with pride.
“You Work”
As I mentioned before, I never could have imagined how much of my dad’s career poured into me. He built a house for us, built furniture for us, and built me an entire set for my student-directed show senior year of Highschool. He was the epitome of a hard worker.
“I like it when you give me piggyback rides”
It seems like I was always on my dad’s shoulders. Sometimes to see higher in the crowd, sometimes when I was tired, but mostly just to be close to him. I felt safe up there on his tall strong shoulders.
“You are smart”
Always the one I looked to for approval, always the one I wanted to impress the most, my dad was such a strong supporter of me in school. I remember how proud I was at my Top 10 banquet in high school, that he stood up to represent me among my other classmates. I will never forget how big his smile was, and that I was the one that gave it to him. Pictured above is us at my NHS Induction Ceremony, and some of my favorite images of him, waving those flowers in victory.
“You have tea parties with me”
Though I don’t remember the tea parties, I remember the endless amounts of pink pork chops, burnt chocolate chip cookies, and Margherita pizza we shared. Oh, and of course- the Shirley Temple I would order every time we went to dinner.
“You think i am beautiful”
He kept a collection of photographs from my sister and I, laughing, fooling around and being kids. He treasured all the little pieces of us that made us unique. He decorated his home with our tap and ballet shoes, and had coasters with our faces on them. He would always ask me to dance after dinner, and tell me to speak up when I would sing. Every painting I made for him, the next one just had to be bigger. He turned everything I did, everything I created, into something beautiful- and I will never forget that feeling. You made me feel like sunshine, dad.
for all of this & more daddio, I love you.
yours always,