Some of us are lucky enough to have a very full, vibrant life with their dad. To have an unbreakable, unforgettable, undeniable father-daughter bond. To have someone show you the ropes of life. To be there for you during every accomplishment. But also every heartbreak, failure, and “get your shit together” moments.
I am not one of those lucky ones.
I did have that unbreakable, unforgettable, undeniable father-daughter bond. I did have some of the show you ropes of life course jam packed into some of my life. I had him there for some accomplishments (not the reaaally big ones), some heartbreak (but he got to witness the rest in heaven), some failure (but not quite my biggest), and “the get your shit together moments” (we all have these often).
As for a full vibrant life…absolutely not. I got 21 years. And my heart shutters to know others get even less. As my dads passing happened out of no where, in the snap of someone’s fingers, and when he was only 49 years old, I learned to mature and grow as a human being real fast.
So dad, while you’ve been away these are the things I have learned.
These are the things that I want to say to you.
You gave me unconditional love and I still feel it. Never stop giving us signs, it gets us through every single day. (I do wish you made more appearances in my dreams though, so if there is any way that you can jump into them waaaay more often…like more than 3 times in 3 years I would jump for joy every morning)
You showed me how a woman should be treated. How small gestures go a long way. How fighting doesn’t resolve. How important it is to find a best friend in your person.
You made it clear that we would figure things out on our own. You’ve always been a helping hand, an ear that would listen fully, and a voice of reason. However, you never once told me what to do. I thank you for this because I now know what it feels like to be an adult (kind of). I can hold my own. Thank you for leaving me with others who can be that hand, ear, and voice but a bigger thanks for giving me the courage to make a decision for myself.
You taught me resilience. I’ve only really learned what this word meant more recently which means I wasn’t always aware that you were teaching me it. The ability to bounce back. Essentially though, I did know that you taught me to never give up and resilience is a gigantic part of that. I take this lesson to heart because, now, after you left this physical part of earth I have now been through the most difficult thing in my life. I have been through the worst but because I knew giving up wasn’t an option, I am still here and still striving.
You became a best friend. Sure, you’re my dad, but the bond we shared was like no other. It wasn’t just this biological link, the genetics we share, or the last name you gave me. It was the fact that you would sit and wait for me every night after work just to talk. It was the fact that you would stop anything for me at any given time and I would do the same. It was the fact that you were my number one fan and I was one of yours. We can’t choose our family but we do choose our friends. How lucky am I that I got you for both?
I miss you. Every. damn. day. The things I would do to have another conversation with you have no limit. I wish every day I could snap my fingers and for you to magically appear before my eyes.
I’m mad at you. I’m mad because you left us way to early. You left without saying good-bye. You left and we’re all still here with a hole in our hearts. I’m mad because you couldn’t come to my college graduation and countless other future monumental life moments. You won’t be at my wedding. The father of the bride won’t be attending. I won’t have you to walk me down the aisle or have that father daughter dance that you requested to be choreographed. That’s something I’ll never get over and I’ll probably continue to hold a grudge for.
I forgive you, though. I forgive you because I know you didn’t want this. I forgive you because you would have said good-bye if you could. So even though I might be a little mad at you, I know it’s not your fault.
I promise you that I will keep your legacy alive. That Phil Glazer was the dad of a lifetime (and trust me everyone will know this). The man, the myth, the legend. I promise that I will inspire others, kick ass and take names, always catch the ball with two hands, make you more proud than ever, run super diamonds for mental errors, stay true to the woman that I am, remain Glazer Strong, and be “livin’ the dream…” day in and day out.
I love you. Forever and always. To the moon and back.
I can’t wait to see you in heaven one day. Now this day is going to be years and decades from now because I plan on living a long life, a life for the both of us since you didn’t get the chance (I know plans don’t always go as well…”planned” hence you not being here, but I’m aiming for a full life ahead).But I want you to know I look forward to whenever this day is and seeing you again. Until then I will continue drinking Ketel One for you, hitting imaginary dingers all the way up to my angel in the outfield, and dancing with you.