This Time of Year is Hard

I've found myself being extremely moody and over sensitive the past week. While I do suffer the normal "girl" moods and my husband is extremely tolerant, this has been beyond what's normal. Throw in multiple nights of restless sleep, it becomes obvious something is wrong.

Oh.

Look at the calender.

While September fourth is the anniversary of my dad's death and this September fourth will be nine years (hardly seems possible I've lived nine years without him), I struggle late July, early August with his death.

It's the anniversary of the last time I got to see my dad.

You see, there was a wedding my parents went to in Colorado. Something like July twenty second. By the twenty eighth my parents came to visit us. I was pregnant and experiencing morning sickness and I told dad I wasn't cooking. Much to my mom's dismay, my dad took us out to eat every night of his visit.

Mom's always been much more budget conscience then dad.

Dad played with the dog. Oh he loved our pound saved mutt named Jesse. Dad played with the kids. We repeatedly saw grandpa alternating between throwing dog toys for the beast and kicking a soccer ball for the girls to chase.

Jane was four that visit, Kate was only about twenty months. Dad loved on them so and I was able to see his growth, in how he embraced being "grandpa" with every bit of his being.

I split the only apricot we had on our sapling with dad somewhere in that first week in August.

Then my parents went back to their life. They said their goodbyes, visited family in Utah and went back to Vermont. It was only a few weeks later I lost that pregnancy and before I could even morn my lost, mom called to let me know that my daddy had suffered a fatal heart attack.

So September fourth isn't so hard for me. I mourn the last time I was able to see him. I can't believe how long it's been. I miss our late night talks. I miss having him as a sounding board. I miss chewing him out for just handing the phone to my mother and assuming I wanted to talk to her.

I wish I could tell him stories of my boys. He'd love my boys.

I wish the girls had more memories of him. Kate was a baby still, she doesn't have any.

At least he knew I loved him. Every time we talked, I told him. I know he counted me as one of his best friends.

Miss you daddy.