“I just want him to be proud of me.”

They are words I think to myself often.

It’s been one month since my father passed away. 

And he just wasn’t the ooey-gooey sentimental type…at least not until the end.

Then, we’d snuggle up with each other and watch Food Network.

Then, we’d talk about love, and God, and forgiveness.

But, for most of his life, Dad was an outdoor, on-the-go type.

And he connected with people face-to-face.

That’s how he showed love.

So, I was never showered with expensive gifts.

But he came to every one of my basketball and volleyball games.

So, when I made honor roll and Dean’s List, he didn’t gush over my brilliance.

But he didn’t talk me out of the major I was passionate about.

So, when he walked me down the aisle, he didn’t cry.

But he cracked jokes.

And, if I’m honest, a part of me has grieved not having the tangible reminders of my father’s love.

Until, that is, just the other day.

Three hours into re-organizing our storage unit, I found it:

A birthday card from many years ago.

The only one I ever remember receiving from Dad.

As I read my name on the envelope, a sense of excitement and gloom set in.

What would Dad’s final written words to me be?

In that moment, I could literally feel peace run through my veins.

Many people think of death as a passing, a letting go, a final goodbye.

But, here on the other side, I just can’t agree.

For the long-lost card only reminded me of perhaps the most freeing truth of all:

When one of your greatest loves dies, your hearts do not separate.

But they are together, forever sealed.

And for the rest of your life, you get the privilege of carrying their spirit.

I think this is what Dad meant by “always”.

I think somewhere in those words written almost two decades ago, he knew when I’d need them.

And he was right.

He was right there.

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