There is something about loving someone for as long as your memories Reach that can, if you allow it, color everything with a bit of magic.
And so it is with my Daddy.
I'll tell you that the more times passes without him, the more they exist in a place of grandeur in my heart. It grows and grows. . .as It should.
Make no mistake, he was grand to me and others I will never know.
I know his life was shaded with failures. It was also full of epic success. His time here was full of good and bad. And he was not always perfect in front of me, but that is different than in "my sight."
So, my love for Daddy has made him perfectly all he needed to be for his daughter, and that is how it works with love.
It just exists and grows and makes failures irrelevant.
Impossible to easily spot.
It would never ask for perfection, yet often, only those we know from their beginnings or our own beginning seem to end up feeling it wholly enough without some stipulation or other attached.
We are in a world that needs real love so much, but we are so desperately confused on how it actually works.
I am here to tell you, this man was never blameless, not perfect, but he was without equal to me because I loved him as love expects to be given. Whatever faults he had never crossed my mind when I had him or through the years since he has been gone. A Perfect life or life full of errors. . .neither meant anything to me. I saw a man of grandeur. A man without equal then.
I decided who he was because of how I loved him. I did not love him because of how he was entirely.
And before I assess others, I ought remember how I judge those I know I have loved without measure. How transgressions are small, slipping to a place of no consequence, and how their value seems without end.
I'd surely like to tell him Happy Father's Day once more.
But Life does what it does, and those opportunities are past.
At 34, I think how many years I have ahead to remember him, and I am so thankful I really, really loved my Father as I should have and will be able to, as years ago, he will drift into a legend, a fable, a myth, and that seems as it should be. . .