Hey Nineteen

A Letter To My Father

Writing a letter today feels a little on the nose. To the point that it feels forced. And you know how well I react when I feel forced into something. I can hear you now:

“Nobody could force you to do anything.”

Except, maybe the US Military. Okay, maybe not even them.

You were here when I woke up nineteen years ago. You were gone by the time I went to bed. Aside from that, it really was a day like any other.

The Chargers were playing the Broncos for the Sunday Night game and I was watching from Jupiter, Florida. I turned off my phone and made what was, in hindsight, a macabre joke about if someone calls to tell me somebody died they’ll still be dead in the morning.

My Chargers won. And, I still make that joke when I put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Which is always.

The things I never say about that day — the parts of it that get lost in the haze of gloom — I taught a little girl how to ride a bicycle. I swam in the ocean and a swimming pool in the same day. I laughed so hard my stomach …