Two Fridays ago, my brothers and I attended the sporting clay shooting event that my dad went to every year after Christmas.  This isn’t an event I would normally attend because … well honestly I am more of a coffee by the fire kind-of-girl.  I love shooting but the cold is not something I typically enjoy.  However, I was happy to be there this time.  It was actually scheduled the day of my daddy’s funeral, but was rescheduled out of respect.  It was a very cold day but my heart was warm and filled up.  Being with the men who my dad called friends was uplifting.  Hearing stories about him was amazing.  And being with my brothers to honor my dad was priceless.  Before the event started, the Collector’s Association wanted to do a shotgun salute to honor my dad.  I know my dad wouldn’t have understood what all the fuss was about, but it was pretty cool.  He was such a humble man and I really wonder if he knew how much people treasured him.  His sudden loss has greatly affected everyone.

People say that time heals, but I’m really struggling.  He’s always on my heart and I think of him all the time.  Every time I want to pick up the phone or text him about something the kids did or said.  Or I’m having a rough day and just need to hear his reassuring voice.  Every time I’m somewhere that reminds me of him.  Or, in going through his things, I find something I know he would have appreciated.  It’s a constant ache.  Being so close to my daddy was such a blessing.  I know many people didn’t have that or don’t understand how painful his loss is.  But I’m told that the magnitude of my pain means that his life was important, that he meant something.  Gosh that sure is true.