I’ve been writing these letters in my head for a long, long time now, and just decided to write them down here as part of the “creating memories and family identity for my kids” project, that’s wasn’t really a project per say until I realized that I didn’t want my life to mirror pinterest, a long list of good intentions that never get done.
Dear Dad,
you’ve been gone six years now and, despite what everyone says, I miss you more each day that passes, not less. It feels weird to be writing you in English, because if I were talking to you it would have been in Italian, but Italian just doesn’t come when I write and I imagine you’re getting my thoughts, wherever you are, and those transcend language. Today in the car the Boy asked if I could put on Nonno F’s song, he wanted to hear “Ma che bella giornata di sole” by Antonello Venditti, I must have told him at some point that was one of your favorite songs, I just don’t know how he remembers these things. They listened to it over and over and they sang along to some of the words. It made me miss you so much. I remembered all the car trips when I hated the classical music you made us listen to, but I also remembered all the Puccini from when I was little, about their age in fact, and I loved it because they were like long, elaborate stories with singing. I still can’t listen to La Turandot without getting melancholy, and I thought to myself, I have to play some opera in the car sometimes, maybe on long trips, because at this age they won’t hate it on principle because it’s old. I want my children to listen to Puccini and think of you.
I wish you were here to see your grandkids cause they’re pretty awesome.
I still love you lots,
Your daughter.
The Bonny Bard 
I needed a morning cry today. I hope you do play classical music in the car, you’re kids deserve these great memories too.
Last month marked the 13 anniversary of my mom’s passing. Some years that date rolls around and it’s been all, yeah whatever, another day, same sadness….then other anniversaries it’s harder than just any old day without her.
I don’t think you ever “get over” the loss of a parent you just adjust to it the best you can.
It’s nice that you still communicate with him because I think he still hears you.
Lots of love coming your way.
This was such a sweet tribute and memory rolled into one. It’s great when you can share these things with your children.
This brought huge tears to my eyes. It’s hard, it’s very hard. I believe the thoughts are heard, and that they transcend language.
And I LOVE Ma che bella giornata di sole. And Ricordati di me. Oh, love. And I have them on CD somewhere. Thank you for reminding me.
Big hugs to you.
I read something recently that said something like: a loss is not something *missing* but actually another experience gained. So it makes sense that you might not just “get over it” when everyone else seems to think it’s time to or maybe you should…because, really, it’s something you carry with you.
I still am lucky enough to have both my parents (even if sometimes I’m not always good about treating them in a way that says I feel lucky). But I loathe getting older, not because *I* am getting older, but because the people I love are getting older and I can’t bear the thought of them passing away.
I think it’s lovely that you write letters to your dad. You never know; you might still be communicating with him somehow. In any case, I hope it brings some peace to your heart.
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