Wednesday, April 03, 2019


I wrote this a couple years ago on my dad's birthday. If you read anything I write at all, you know my struggles with this...

I wish that my dad could have stayed, that he could have found healing, that he could meet My Stephen, the man who continues to fill in all the holes he left.
So many memories twisted up in wanting and needing. 
So much sadness and aching for healing. 
One moment at a time. Memories of me dancing in the kitchen to "Killing Time" or the smell of train tracks as we headed to go swim. Frogs in my bed and sliding down gravel piles to eating at Wendy's one last time before I said goodbye. 
Tonight I realize more than most that he loved me. He loved me how he could. 
Happy Birthday Stubby Freeman. You are and were loved.
March 25, 1952-Oct 3, 1990

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