Dear Dad,

I want to call you so bad right now. I want to tell you all about my struggles and all about my productive day. I want to vent about how mom drove me crazy this past week that she was here and how I snapped and then apologized because it was actually uncalled for.

I want to tell you that I love you and that I can’t wait to see you again. I want to hear your laugh as I tell you about all the funny things the kids are doing. I want to tell you about struggles I’m facing with them. I want to tell you about all my work stress but also how grateful I am to work where I do. How I prayed for a job that offered the flexibility for me to still be present with the kids and be able to show up for them even though I’m working full time. I finally have it and I’m very grateful that I do.

I want to hear you call me “tu repollo” again. I want to hear you say, “hola hija” in that way only you could.

I want to hear how bored you’ve been and how you try to fill your time with productivity. How you try to keep your brain functioning even though you don’t have much to do these days. I want to hear about what you read in the paper this morning. If you had a hard time doing the crossword. I want to hear about your silly fights with the tias and how they get on your nerves. But I know you don’t really mind. You love them and are happy to still have them around. I want to hear more stories about when you were a kid. How much of a handful you were.

I would love to ask you about the stuff I found in your room and kept. The notebook you kept for Cale during her infancy. I wonder if you ever kept one for me. And if you did I wonder where it went. I would love to read it. I would love to ask about the pictures you kept, the old stuff that belonged to abuela. I know I would have questions about her. You always said that I reminded you of her and I wonder in what ways we were similar. It’s a shame I never met her.

Dad, I miss you in ways that I can’t even describe. And I know I should be accepting of your departure even though I wasn’t ready, but that’s very hard. I hate that our time got cut short. I hate that you’re gone. I hate that I can’t call. I hate that I won’t ever see your face again. I hate that I won’t hear your voice again. That I’m shit out of luck when it comes to fatherly advice. I simply hate that you’re gone.

I just need you dad. I don’t know how to not need you. I hope you’re watching over me and the kids. I hope you found David in heaven and are working together to help me keep my shit together.

I love you dad, I’m forever your baby girl. Tu pimpollo, tu repollo, tu cielo. Rest in peace Papi 💙