titles are pointless sometimes . . .

As I laid in bed this morning it hit me, it was 8:15am and a year ago you were still here. Well, medically you were still here but I think Mom, Bob and I all knew you weren’t really there anymore. This realization hit like a load of bricks. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. My entire body had turned to cement and there was no way I could budge even a toe. It’s been a year and I still don’t know why you’re gone. I still don’t understand why on earth God would take you from us, from me. I know heaven is supposed to be just unfathomably amazing, so I understand why you’d get there and never want to leave. You have the best common sense of anyone I know. Street smarts says if you find a good thing, keep it! I know God has already used your passing to His glory and to be honest that’s the only thing ‘good’ I can see in all of this. Just two days later at your memorial at least 6 or 7, by my count and probably more, came to know the man who you found to be the true Messiah. It was the only bright spot in that entire wretched day. Knowing that you’d made an impact so much in these lives that when Garrett made the offer to those willing and ready, many accepted.

Despite that fact, I remain selfish. I remain a little girl, broken-hearted, that her Daddy is no longer here. Wondering why I only got to have you for 25 years when it could’ve, and should’ve in my opinion, been many more. Sure, they were the best 25 years a girl could ever ask for or imagine, but that doesn’t mean I was ready to give them up! I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. Maybe I never will be. I don’t know and I can’t know that, not right now. I still see a granite blue Silverado or a green Expedition and double check to see if it’s you. I know it isn’t. But I have to check. Just in case. I often expect to hear the garage door at the house open, then the door, and the sound of your boots and scraping paws as Angel excitedly bombards you. But you aren’t. You won’t be coming through that door. Instead, you’re waiting on me, Mom, and Bob. I’m sure when we get there you’ll be thinking “Gee, that was fast!” but for us it is such a long time.

Enjoying chocolate cake, pretty much the embodiment of you.

A year has flown by and yet seemed like an eternity. This post was how I felt a year ago and how I will always feel about the amazing person you are, Dad. Glenn Allen Martin, 56 years on this earth, 25 in my life, and forever in my heart. I love you, Daddy. . .

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1 Comment

Filed under Faith, Family, Grief

One response to “titles are pointless sometimes . . .

  1. sorry you lost your dad. He was way too young. Yep, you got ripped off. xo

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