Letters Unread

As I try to make sense of my daddy's untimely death, I've been having this internal struggle with spirituality. I'm not a religious person, by any stretch of the imagination, and that's no secret. In fact, anyone who knows me well is probably laughing by now. I hesitate to label myself, but if I had to I probably most closely identify with agnosticism. How can I possibly confirm or deny the unknown? I do, however, have a better understanding and appreciation of people who turn to faith in times of despair. I've been surprised, shocked even, by some of my recent thoughts. I find myself constantly questioning. Where is he? Does he see Sylvie's infectious smile? Can he hear me weeping? Or did he just cease to exist? Either way, I'm finding comfort in the most unsuspecting ways, even if they are fictional... Along with my dad, a piece of me died that day in July. I don't mean that in a melancholy, bemoaning kinda way. You see, my dad didn't ever like to be alone. He was a people-person. If you knew my dad, you knew him as a social butterfly. I often dreaded going anywhere with him as he would inevitably run into someone he knew, turning our quick trip to the hardware store into a lengthy reunion. Moreover, he could walk into a room full of strangers and come out with life-long friends. My dad was never alone and he's not now either. If part of me is gone, then it must be with him, keeping him company. Where ever he is. Likewise, that missing piece of me is not empty. Rather, it is full of memories and my daddy's love.

~Daddy's Little Princess

P.S. In a desperate attempt to stay connected to my the man I so dearly adored, I began writing to him. You can find a collection of letters unread here... Dear Daddy