Dear Dad,
It’s the first anniversary of your death, and I miss you. In some ways, I can’t believe it has already been a year. Didn’t we just have a good time visiting you at the property? Didn’t you just go on a nature walk with Emily and me? We found a huge dead raven. You made it talk. Only yesterday, we were moving scrap metal and cinder blocks together until our bodies ached for a break. And what about that evening barbecue where we laughed at the kids’ silly jokes until our faces hurt? The last time I saw you was at Emily’s wedding. You and Mom rescued me from the wedding dinner because I was so sick with a migraine that I was merely existing in the space rather than enjoying the time with family and friends. Earlier that day, you were grinning at the happy young couple in the sealing room at the temple.
I miss that grin. I miss our random conversations. I miss the projects. We have indeed had a lot of project days with Mom since you've been gone, and I know you’re there for those too, but there is just something delightfully torturous about projects with you.
And really, I might not see you physically, but I do see you in my dreams. You’re there almost every night. I thought these dream visits would stop after you had been gone for a few months, but you keep showing up, and I’m glad.
These dreams usually fall into two categories: working on car and house repairs or navigating nature. The repair/maintenance dreams might be closer to nightmares.
Growing up, our family always had some home improvement projects going on—even when we moved into a new house, there was the yard. Now, when you’re in my dreams, we are working on some impossible project together. I should clarify—I believe the project is impossible, but you are just working on a thing that needs to be done. You assume I’m capable of completing ridiculous assignments on my own. In my most recent dream, I had to back a truck and trailer into a tight spot. I tried to pass the job off to somebody else, but, nope, you told me to do it. I sometimes think of these dreams as nightmares because there is absolutely no escape from doing the hard thing. And everybody, especially you, assumes I’m absolutely capable when I know I’m not.
I have a very early memory of helping you with a project. I think I was in kindergarten or first grade. The details are fuzzy, but I think it involved a car. My job was to place a car part or tool somewhere and hold it in place while you did something important to repair the car. You instructed me, “Place it in the center.” Well, I didn’t know what “center” meant. (Can you believe it?) Since I didn’t know and I was too scared to ask, I guessed. You said, “No, Bonni. In the center. Right there in the center.” I guessed again. “For goodness sake, Bonni put it right there in the middle.” Oooooooh, the middle. Aha!!
The wildlife dreams have a different tone. My family knows I love wildlife sightings and magnificent storms, but I’m also a little scared that my life might be in danger. I think you and I are very similar in this way. Remember when Emily and I wanted to cross the open field at the property as an angry thunderstorm approached? You thought we should wait out the storm, but we went anyway. We made it okay, but I recognized that I might have been dumb not to listen to your warnings. In the dreams where I’m interacting with nature, you’re there to warn and teach. If I’m excited about seeing a bear or mountain lion, you’re excited too, but your excitement always comes with a warning attached to a lesser-known fact. You also always have a plan for escape if things go awry. In my dreams, we have observed mountain lions and bears, removed hoards of venomous snakes from our house, terminated large spiders, and found shelter in storms. You are always there seeking my enlightenment and safety at the same time.
In my dreams, as in my life, you always assumed I was capable when I thought I wasn’t. You treated me as if my expertise matched or even exceeded your own, so you never doubted I could do that extra challenging thing I was avoiding.
I miss you. I know you’re aware of all the people you love who are still here, tromping through this mortal existence. I don’t think you’re constantly watching down on us because you have your own work to do where you are. But I know you peek in now and again. When I’m feeling especially down or overwhelmed, I think, what would Dad think of this? What would he want me to know? Actually, what does he think I already know? I don’t get exact answers, but I do feel your admiring approval. I hear, “You’re even stronger than I thought. You’ll get through this just like you have before.” My perspectives and beliefs about my Heavenly Father are informed by interactions with my earthly father, now in heaven.
Keep up the good work, Dad, and I’ll do my best to do all the things you know I can do.
I love you!
Bonni
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