If I could say one thing to you, it’d be that I love you.
How boring and cliché is that?
But we never really said it that much.
Honestly, I can’t even remember enough times to count on one hand.
Maybe I just have a bad memory.
Or it’s clouded now from the exhausting effort of trying to live in a world without you.
Maybe you said it a lot when I was small, and I just can’t seem to get those moments back to the front of my mind.
Maybe you said it a lot more recently, and I just wasn’t paying attention.
I don’t know.
That doesn’t mean that you weren’t a good dad, though.
No, you were one of the absolute best.
And I know that you loved me. More than I could ever understand.
You showed me that in a million different ways throughout our years together.
But there’s something so significant about actually saying those words and hearing them in return.
Because the words “I love you” are meant to shed light on all of the darkest parts of us. “I love you” means that I care about you. “I love you” means that I understand. “I love you” means that I see you and that I admire every single part of you (even the bad parts). “I love you” means that I accept you even when you’re under construction. Love asks the question, “What do you need from me? What can I teach you?” Love takes hold of your heart and whispers, “I don’t ever want to let you go.”
So, since you died, I think that I’ve picked that habit up. Telling people that I love them more often.
I think it helps me to feel like I’m making up for all of the times that I should’ve said it, but didn’t.
I tell Mom, Molly, and Destiny that I love them every single time that we part, whether it be in person, on the phone, or even just texting. I try to do so with the rest of our family, too. And my friends.
I even say it out loud every time that I visit you at the cemetery.
Is that silly? Maybe.
But I think that it’s important. I think that it’s a good habit that I’ve picked up.
One that would make you smile.
And oh, how many different I love you’s that I’ve thought, said, screamed, and cried at the wind for you in the past three years.
I love you…why’s this happening?
I love you…where did you go?
I love you…but I don’t understand how I’m supposed to do this.
I love you…please come back to me.
I love you…I’m worried about Mom.
I love you…I hope there might be a possibility of having the chance to be okay again someday.
But most of all, really, I guess this letter’s just a lousy apology to tell you that I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I loved you enough while you were still here.
I should’ve told you every single day.
Because I did love you. I still do. And I will, always.
But now it’s too late.
