It's all happening. Just the way we'd hoped. My husband got the transfer he'd been working for. We have dates and plans now. Decisions need to be made. More than anything I want to pick up the phone and call my dad. I want him to give me his perspective, his ideas, his assurance that it's all going to work out. He had a way of doing that. Making anything seem possible.
We were going to be so close to his farm. That was the plan you know. To be on his route from his home to his farm. Then when he retired to the farm we'd be close. It's turning out like we planned but he isn't here to see it and enjoy it. I have lived far from "home" most of my adult life. My children never knew him as well as I wanted them to. Now they will never get to know him better.
While making plans and penciling in these dates on my calendar, I see it there. His name and his birthday in big puffy letters. He would have been 60 this year. Just when I think I've got a handle on things, something will smack me upside the head, and I'm a blubbering mess again. It would make my dad crazy. He didn't like for me to cry. I try to suck it up but the tears just won't stop. People tell me someday it won't be so hard. For now I think of him daily, and hope I'm making him proud.