You’re right–we all have wishes.

I know that usually on Friday’s I post a
curriculum piece, but something else is on my mind. Today marks 3 months since my father’s passing.

Dear Dad,

My mind is flooding with memories of you, like when you were bent on the ground smelling different soaps and lotions from under the sink with McKinley. You were smiling ear-to-ear looking into her young and (at the time) blue eyes. I loved watching that moment.

And I loved watching so many other wonderful moments between the two of you. Here’s the thing, I can’t help but wish you were here to see her becoming an artist. I wish you could see her brush her own teeth…oh gosh dad, there are many wishes I have.


You’re right–there are many wishes we all have. Haha, I remember you would come home with a dollar lottery ticket and we would go around discussing our various decisions with the winnings. You loved doing that!

Spit it out.

I just…I struggle with your absence. Sometimes it feels like a moral void. Sometimes empty. So I try to wrap my head around, and remember clearly, our conversations about the afterlife. Do you remember? One time we were sitting outside on the back patio late into the evening. Stars above us.

What do you think is going to happen to me?

I told you– I didn’t know, but that it couldn’t be bad, because logistically speaking it wouldn’t make sense. And there started another amazing- thought provoking-conversation.

Dad, I’m sorry I took time for granted. I thought we would have more time together. I’m sorry for the days I was a grouch and the times I was to tired for another wheelchair ride.

Most of all dad, what I want you to know? Even if I have said it before (I want to tell you again). I’m incredibly honored to be your daughter. Proud to call you my father. I’ll miss our in-depth meaningful conversations. I have deep admiration for you, for your compassion, and kindness towards others. I look up to you in ways you won’t understand. And I’ll never stop my quest to becoming a better me. Geez I could write a lot here so—I love you and I miss you.

Thank you for supporting McKinley Milestones and my blogging world. 🙂
This blog today is dedicated to you.
R.I.P. dad. And, I’ll see you again. XO


14 Comments Add yours

  1. That is such a powerful letter – thank you for sharing such a personal insight.
    I am tearing up – you were so very fortunate to have a dad that clearly lit up your world. Sorry for your loss – I am sure McKinley has a very special guardian angel!

    1. Thank you sweetie. That means a lot, and your response teared me up! I’m so thankful for my blogger friends. Yes, I think you’re right she has a special guardian angel 🙂 xo

      1. Isn’t it a fantastic, surprise byproduct of blogging? XO

      2. Omg! Absolutely! 🙂

  2. Oh Georgia, I knew your dad was terminally ill, but I totally missed the post in which you talked of his passing. I’m so sorry for your loss; sincere condolences.

    That letter is beautiful and thought-provoking. It makes me realize how much I take for granted in life. Thank you for sharing.

    Take care, Georgia. You are in my thoughts.

    1. Sophie,

      Thank you and thank you for reading. I’m glad that it was thought provoking. I am so blessed for my blogger friends/family. xo

  3. amandamae says:

    I cried all the way through that. I lost my dad 11 years ago…he’s missed so many important milestones in my life (marriage, kids, etc) There is a void there that will never go away, and just when you think you’re ok with it and you can move day to day without feeling that void, something happens and you think, I wish dad were here…there’s that void again. Being a spiritual person though, I know there is an after life, I’ve had dreams about it with my dad being there in the forefront, I’ve felt him at many times when I just need him there….hard to explain, but truly your dad hasn’t left you. I know you will see him again. I hope that brings some consolation.

    1. Amanda,
      I’m sorry to hear about your loss. Though, I’m glad I can write about something meaningful that touches home for you. It comforts me to hear someone go through the same thing and that there is hope. Thank you for your kindness and for sharing your story with me. All my best,

  4. Beautiful. I want to say sorry but condolences could never reach that place, the memories and the ache. I hope you will accept this gift. All I have for you:

    Thx for the likes on the Greatness series.

    1. Thank you for sharing this poem with me, and I’m so glad you got back into poetry. You have a way with words that inspires me!

      1. Thanks. Just wanted to bless you. Diana

  5. Such a beautiful tribute to your dad. I didn’t realize he had passed. I lost my mom very quickly to cancer almost 7 years ago. It’s a void that can never be filled, but… I find comfort in the belief that she is in a place of no pain or sorrow, and that she lives on with me in the love I have for my children, the way I parent, my daughter’s bubbly personality and crazy sense of style, my son’s sweet hugs and all the little pieces of her that live on in those she loved. Sending hope for comfort your way.

    1. Keisha, seriously–thank you. I started
      crying reading your commentary. Sigh, and I know deep down you’re right. My dad is here in McKinley and the way I parent. I appreciate you reading and stopping by. I too am sorry to hear about your loss, because from what I’ve learned and seen it never goes away– it just gets easier. Thanks for the comfort. -Georgia

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