So.

Back in mid-November, my dad passed away. We knew it was coming, he didn't have long left, but it still hit a lot of us pretty hard. I'm still trying to get my head sorted about it, as a matter of fact. I can't even begin to understand how my second mom is managing to function at all.

And for context, this is something one of my uncles made to display at his funeral.

I don't even know what to think, really. Don't get me wrong, he's my dad, and even if he wasn't perfect, he tried. I know that even if he wasn't around all the time, he made an effort. I got to spend summers with him, and any time the route his truck was going took him near me, he'd stop by for at least a day. Spending my summers riding passenger in his Peterbilt are some of the best memories I have of my childhood. Those summers are probably what made me love travelling and long distance road trips, honestly.

We didn't always see eye to eye, nothing is ever perfect. There were a lot of times I didn't like him. But he was my dad, and there was never a time when I didn't love him. I think that disconnect is something that my nieces and nephews are trying to come to grips with. My sister and I have had our whole lives with him to realize that it was possible, they're still young. Even the oldest is still a kid, as far as I care. He could be a mean, crotchety, sharp-tongued fuck, that's for certain. But when push came to shove, he would have your back when you needed him. Probably telling you off the whole time, but there was no mistaking that he was in your corner.

I don't know. There are things I wish I had said, sure. And plenty more that I wish I hadn't said. But I'd like to think that I managed to say the things that I needed to in time.

My father, two brothers, and a daughter. I'm not sure how I've managed to outlive that many people, it's the idea that I've done so that keeps me up at night.