If We Were Having Coffee – Post-Holiday – Dammit We Miss You Edition

Note: Here is my contribution for the official inaugural Weekend Coffee Share link-up.

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Image courtesy of Ohmega1982 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

If we were having coffee I would tell you that I miss you Dad. I’d tell you that we all miss you.

So much.

I’d shake my head while telling you that it’s hard to believe how quickly time flies. Here we are; this was already our third Holiday season without you.

Do you know this year we miscounted the number of guests and ended up with an extra chair around the table for Christmas dinner? Once everyone sat down we all stopped and looked at each other when we realized there was an empty chair. I looked into Mom’s eyes and nodded without speaking. No words were needed. We both knew who that chair was meant for.

If we were having coffee I’d reassure you that we’ve pulled together and we’re all helping each other get by. It took a while just as everyone predicted, but it did get easier.

Time dampens the pain from that sharp wound to the soul and replaces it with a nagging sense of loss that hums in the background. A dull ache that never completely goes away. It’s not supposed really – with time it just becomes bearable.

I’d also tell you how grateful I am that you didn’t suffer long. Not compared to some I’ve seen. Barely eight months from diagnosis to your last breath, with a few pointless chemo treatments thrown in because…well, we had to try right?

Looking back, those remaining months flew by so fast but we certainly made the most of them though, didn’t we?

I would tell you that your sons still speak reverently and often about our boys’ trip to Wrigley Field. What a great weekend that was.

That deep dish pizza and those Chicago style hotdogs. The ones your doctors said you weren’t supposed to eat. Damn they were good! They kept you up all night burping and farting. It scared the hell out of us for a bit, but then one of us joked about having turned you into a methane factory.

You started laughing and couldn’t stop.

That’s how I’m always going to remember you Dad. Doubled over not in pain, but laughing.

If we were having coffee I’d also tell you not to worry about Mom. Some days are better than others of course, but overall I’d say she’s managing well. We’re keeping a close eye on her and helping out as best we can. Really, you’d be proud of her. She’s tougher than we all thought.

Of course I know we can’t have coffee again, but if we could I’d tell you that I love you. You know I’m ashamed to admit it but I probably said those words to you more in the last few months of your life than I had in all the previous years since I was little boy.

Dammit, why can’t we men look each other in the eye and say that more often, while we still can?

Well I can’t change what’s in the past but I assure you that I’ll be a lot more generous with my I love you’s in the future.

So today if we were having coffee I’d say it to you one more time. Then I’d put on my best brave face and I’d raise my cup and ask you to join me in a defiant toast: Fuck you Cancer!