I'd like to say there are times when I remember and I'm happy. Just happy. But there aren't yet. Even happy memories hurt because they always end with me wishing he was here. I'm not sure that there's not something wrong with me, how much I miss him still, how much it still hurts.
I sometimes think about how I felt when we first found out he was sick and I thought, "I can't do this. We CAN'T lose him. He can't go." I can't. I thought that over and over and over. That was a long time ago, but I still think that sometimes, just the same as I did years ago.
But as much as I miss my dad, I miss my kids' grampa more. I miss watching them with him. I miss who he was in their lives. He was the person who would always have open arms, listening ears, and a lap for sitting in. He was the guy who took them fishing and played cars on the floor with them, who wrestled shirtless on the bed and who read them "The Monster At The End of This Book". He was 100% secure love in a way that no one else was. And I miss that the most.
I wish they could remember him better. I wish Hannah could remember him at all. It is so upsetting to me that they can't, because he loved them so much and he was so important to them. But I tell them about him, and I show them pictures, and I am so thankful for all the videos I took of him. My crazed need to document everything in my life has really paid off in a big way...