A couple of nights ago, I was laying in bed and started thinking about my dad. I'm fairly certain that my thoughts originated from bypassing a few emails my dad had written a few months ago--updating us on all the latest news about his cancer. I've kept them in a folder for later use on a scrapbook that I haven't had the courage to start on yet. When I passed the emails, I couldn't even open them. The thought of reading my dad's words on a page suddenly felt overwhelming and almost like if i did, my insides just might come out. So.....for another day.



As I laid there in bed, John asked me what I was missing about him. I could barely put two words together, but what eventually came out was something along the lines of "when we talked, he made me feel like he wouldn't rather be anywhere else but right there, talking with me". And then, like a tidal wave, I felt so sad.

I believe that I am going to see my dad in Heaven, and believe me, the anticipation is great. I think about it a lot, what it will be like, what we will do, but mostly how great the reunion will be. There is so much hope in that promise. And yet, I am still here on earth, and until I reach Heaven, the separation will be real, and sorrowful--to varying degrees.

As I was telling John about all this, I was trying to put words to my emotion. The best that I could come up with was, "its like my life is a basketball game, and my backboard is gone". Playing the game without it feels, at best, incomplete. And in my most difficult moments, it just feels plain wrong.



My dad's presence was more powerful than I ever knew. And now in his absence, I recognize his presence more than ever.