Seven years ago, I would have never thought I would be where I am today. Living life without the little one who made everything livable. But living, with three awesome kids who make getting up and out of bed on those days when I would prefer not to, easier. And doable.

I went to work, smiled, laughed, and did what I was supposed to do. I did everything I do on any other day. I came home, woke the kids up, shuffled them through their routine, and took Josh to school.

Seven years ago, I would have never seen myself doing this. Living this life, that sometimes seems so foreign to me, Im not even sure if Its mine. Reluctant, to let go of what I know to be mine, and hold onto something I don’t know if will be there tomorrow or not. I didn’t take her to school this morning, I didn’t kiss her good morning. I didn’t even see her today. She isn’t here. And most years, its more than I can handle. Its hard, still. Knowing what I know today, and didn’t know then. But today. Its doable.

I got off work, stopped by the store, and came home. Where the dog ran circles and jumped and begged for attention. The kids came home, and the silent vow was broken. Orders were given, laughter was had, and tears were shed. Candy was distributed and consumed, dinner prepared, and laundry piled high.

Seven years. It seems like such a long time, yet it seems like a drop in the bucket. Compared to what still remains undone and unseen. Seven years ago I didn’t want to live to see a new morning. I didn’t want to say good-bye to another day without her. I didn’t want to see what the future held, or what else was out there. I wanted back. My thinking time consisted of something that would look like a lost person sitting on a lonely rock, staring into the past with their back to the future. My mind was closed to the possibilities of a NEW future. The fork in the road could kiss my back side because I was not making any decisions. And I was certainly not going to make it YEARS into this “new” life of mine.

Today I plan. I prepare. I think I wonder. I dream. I want to see tomorrow, I want to see next year. I want to see it all, and then some. I want to live to be three hundred, and still be able to move. I want to see the other side of the world, and I want to see the kids grow up. Kids. Who arent mine. But I love to pieces. And would be just as broken if anything were to ever happen to them. Kids. Who mean the world to me. Kids. Who make this life…life.

Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have thought that I would be taking these kids in, and loving them. Living. Loving. And laughing again. Seven years later.

I want to wake up tomorrow and breath in this life. This new future of mine. I want to see what is going to happen, and I want to get up and GO. And DO what I can in the time I have. I want to live again, I want to smile and laugh. I want to.

Sometimes, its hard. To have this new life, this new plan, this new future, and know that she isn’t a part of it. But its doable. Today, its doable. On a day I would never have thought to see the light, I see it. Bright and clear, just like I did yesterday. And the day before. Even when its clouded up, I know its there. And I want to see where it leads. I want to live this life with the ones I have and the ones I love, knowing. Knowing that I still can love her, and have her. And hold her close, if even just in my heart. Where she will always have that special place. Reserved for my little girl.

Who meant, and means the world to me.

And who I love and miss you, always and forever.

No matter what.

Signed,

- Your Dad

It doesn’t surprise me, that seven years have gone. At times it seems like more. At times it seems like yesterday.

Today. Seven years. The only thing that surprises me, is that seven years later, I am still here. Still living. Not just going through the motions. Not just existing. But living. Breathing. Smiling. As if nothing happened. Me. The person who swore I couldn’t live a day without her, am here today. Almost seven years later.

In a way, I am shocked. Shocked that I AM still here. But not only here, but that I have returned to a place where I can honestly say I am ok. And I am still breathing. And not just grieving.

Everyday. Is a step further away. Something that scares me, but something I cant control. Every breath is a breath further away. Further away from the pain, but further away from her. Further away from the known, and closer to the unknown.

Today, as I think through the past seven years, I remember a day. Where I honestly didn’t know if I would make it another minute. The heart shatter pain that rain through my veins. I was left in a place. I felt like I was failing her, letting go. For a long time I had tried. Tried to “move” on. And “Let go” and it isn’t until recently that I realized something. It wasn’t UP to me when I let go. I couldn’t let go, because I wasn’t ready. I remember being in that place. Scared to let go, knowing I was. Somehow. But not knowing how. Loosing control. Fearing the future.

I remember it all, like it was yesterday.

But Im here.

Seven years later, smiling. Most days.

Because as much as it hurts, as hard as it is, as much as I hated to do it. I had to. I had to say good bye. I had to admit. I had to accept. Accept the pain, and the sadness. So I could heal. So I could not be left behind with the pain and anguish that came from loosing my daughter. But instead live today, and remember her. And love her. And hear her.

In saying good bye, I didn’t say good bye to her. I didn’t say good bye to the memories or the love. I didn’t say good bye to the pain. Or the sorrow. It wasn’t the magic cure. But I said good bye to all my perceived ideas of what I should be doing, and who I should be. I freed myself, from being left in a past that wasn’t worth staying in.

My biggest fear was leaving them. Loosing them. Forgetting them. And yet seven years later…As hard as it is to be here…without her…I still remember her. As clearly as I did then, if not clearer. Because my memories arent shadowed with fear of loosing her. Shes free, and Im free with her.

Wishing it would go away, and wishing at the same time that it would just sit.  And stay a while.  Atleast then it would be predictable.

Wondering what to do.

Trying to stay positive.

Trying to enjoy.  And smile.  And laugh.  And love.  Freely.

Unsure of what to think.  What to say.  Or what to do really.

Do I laugh?  Do I cry?  Do I scream? Do I get mad?  Nothing seems to fit.

It just seems, somewhat, surreal.

Everything.

I guess its just going to take some getting used to.  This life of mine.

Looking back over these past years, seeing how fast and how quickly things change.  Having purpose, and reason one minute.  And nothing the next.  How something so bleak, empty, and pointless can suddenly turn into something worth living for.  And how in living, comes fears.  Because living just doesn’t come natural anymore.

It seems the hole should be filled by now, the pain should be gone.  But I have reserved that hole for her, and its not going to be filled by just anyone.

Seven years and the only thing people remember of her is what I say.  Which is nothing.  No one remembers her.  If I were to forget, the world would never know her.  Is it wrong?  To miss someone who never existed to anyone but me?  Is it wrong to live in this fairy tale that went wrong?  Is it wrong to not know what to think, or feel, or do anymore?

I don’t even know her anymore.  How do I know if I still love her?  How do I know who she would be?  How do I know who she is?

Why cant I be happy with what I have, instead of lost because of what I don’t?

Pretend the door will open and she will rush in. Pretend that she isn’t gone. Pretend the day will end with her in my arms. Pretend that behind that door, she is there. Pretend that if I close my eyes, squeeze them shut, count to ten, it will all be over. Pretend that life is a big joke, and I can walk right out that door into a brand new life without all this baggage. Pretend that running does some sort of good, and that I am not stuck here. Drowning. Pretend that I don’t HAVE to pretend to be ok, that I AM ok. Because sometimes…I get tired.

Tired of pretending. Tired of living. Tired of trying. Tired. Of going on. Like nothing happened. Like everything is ok. Like that elephant simply doesn’t exist. Tired of straining to hear their names, tired of wishing someone would talk about them. Tired of wishing that I weren’t so alone in my mind with my thoughts, that no one knows.

Sometimes I wish that all this pretending could end this tiredness that I feel.

And that I could run out that door, and end it all.

By seeing that smile.

Hearing that laugh.

Sometimes. I can see her smile, and I smile with her. I can hear her laugh, and I laugh too. I can feel her arms around my neck and I hold on as tight as I can, only to wake up and realize…that the only hands around my neck are my own. Wishing. Hoping. Pleading. That my time too would come. Sometimes, this world is simply not enough to fill the emptiness I feel. Sometimes I don’t want to hold my broken heart together. Sometimes I want to let go and see, just for a moment, what would happen. How far would I fall, how far could I fall. And would I be strong enough to pick back up and carry on, again, without her at the end?

My heart aches, but so do my arms. I wish to hold her. Hold her tight and never let go. Never have to let go. Dreams just arent enough, because they end. I have to let go. I open my eyes and see the light of another day. Taking her away, until tonight.

Until another dream brings her back to my broken heart and tired mind.

But sometimes…dreams…arent enough for me.

I couldn’t think of anything to say.  Didn’t know how to tell someone I barely know anymore all the things I don’t know anymore.  Do I love her still?  I think I do, but I couldn’t be sure.  Do I miss her?  As far as I know…but sometimes I wonder.  My mind wanders, and never really comes back.

Nine years.  It seems so long, and yet it seems to be a drop in the bottom of a bottomless bucket.  How could I have gone for this long, without the two that made life, worth living?  Why would I have wanted to push myself so hard, for so long, for this?  For what?

The numbers have followed me the past few months, and I have done everything in my power to avoid them.  I have cussed them out, flipped them off, yelled obscured things at them…and yet evening falls, morning rises, and time ticks on.  No matter what.  The rhythm is always the same.  The tune is always the same.  The sun rises, and sets.  Winter comes, summer leaves.  And with it another year.

But still no answers.

I wonder if there will ever be answers.  Answers to the questions I don’t even know how to ask.  How can I celebrate a day with so much pain?  How can I celebrate the one who isn’t here?  How can I celebrate someone I barely knew, yet love so deeply?  How can I move on when the pain is so deep?  And yet I do.  And I don’t know how exactly.

When a birthday comes, another year gone. When you arent here to celebrate the day. When theres nothing left to celebrate. I don’t want you thinking I forgot you, because I havent. You are always, always on my mind and in my thoughts. I hold you close when things get hard, and yet I have tried to let you go. I don’t know what to say this year, because there isn’t anything left to say that hasn’t been said. Nothings changed, your still not here, I still miss you.

Happy Birthday baby girl. I love you.

Always.

One second, one word, one moment…it was gone.

I know. I know. I know. I KNOW. It doesn’t really matter. She probably doesn’t care, it wont make or break anything. But I denied it. I said no. I said I did not have a daughter. Not children, but a daughter. I totally…

I don’t even know what to think really.

Perhaps…I let her down. Maybe she wonders what kind of a father I am, to deny her. Or maybe she doesn’t really care. I don’t know anymore. I just…don’t know.

Im sorry baby. Im so sorry.

I got more than some people did;

Her first word, first step, first smile.  I got many sleepless nights, and piles of dirty diapers.  The worry that comes from a sick baby, and the frustration of no sleep and no idea of what I was doing.  I got the satisfaction of seeing her happy and I got to be greeted by the happiest face I ever saw in the early mornings, making it impossible to get mad when there was no sleep to be had.  I held her many times as she drifted to sleep and watched as she could no longer fight the sleep.

But I never got to see her dress up for the prom, infact, I never got to take her to her first day of school.  She never went to kindergarten, and never went to preschool.  I never got to see what she would pick for Halloween, and never got to see what her personality would choose for show and tell.  I will never get to walk her down the isle, I will never see what her future holds.

She was two years old.

She was just a baby.

And I couldn’t protect her.

I chased the hunger when she cried, and rocked her to sleep.  I was prepared to chase the monsters, and battle anyone who dared to love her more than I to the end.  I was there to protect her, and was ready to protect her from any harm, imaginary or real, that came her way.

But I didn’t.  Despite my desires, despite my love, despite my best efforts, and willingness to “Just trade her places” I watched her die.  Instead of watching her grow, and thrive.  I watched her breath her last.  Instead of picking out schools, and watching her dance off in the clothes she picked out herself, I picked out a casket.  The last thing that would ever hold her body.  When all I wanted was to wrap my arms around her, and die along side her.  To be buried with her, to be the last thing to hold her.

I couldn’t save her.  No matter how hard I tried.

Sometimes it doesnt matter how much I loved or love here.  Sometimes it doesnt matter how badly I want something, because if it did matter – it wouldnt have happened.

I am done acknowledging it. I am done accepting it. I am finished being ok with it. To be honest, I never was ok with it. I never was happy with accepting it. I tried, because that’s what I thought was expected. In enough time I was SUPPOSED to be ok with things. I was supposed to be able to acknowledge what had happened and I was expected to be ok with it, and while I tried…I just cannot be ok with it anymore. I cannot see those numbers, and constantly be reminded and be ok. I cant. And if I could…then I am done.

A while ago when I first started see those numbers appear in random places, I figured it was just wanting to be acknowledged. It wanted me to say “Ok. I see it. I get it. I know whats coming.” So I did. I became the stupid fool talking to random numbers in random places. But last night. It caught me in a moment when I was NOT ok with accepting it to be what it was. And people laugh. They laugh when I tell them “I was tired of the numbers” because they think its funny, and really, it probably is.

But seeing those numbers, feeling followed by a certain set of numbers…it makes me feel even more crazy. More absurd than I already am. Really, I am probably just painfully aware this time of year of those numbers. I am seeing them places I wouldn’t normally see them because I am trying to avoid them. And the harder I try to avoid, the more they appear. I might be able to avoid it in certain places at certain times, but other times…I walk right into it.

And sooner or later, the day will pass and things will return to “normal.” But something inside me wonders…will I ever be ok? Will I ever see those numbers as simple numbers again? Will I ever return to the state of not so insane? And if so…when. Because Im really getting tired of being haunted…by numbers. Numbers that mean nothing to everyone else, but mean everything to me.

And I do.

I remember her. I remember her laughs and smiles and cries. I remember her face, her hands. I remember it all, and yet she isn’t here and its only a memory of mine that I cant invite people in to see, and do I really want everyone associating her name, and her with cancer, because really, that’s all they’ve got.

People say that kids are “More than what they are labeled with.” That this kid is not “Autism” and this kid is not “ADD” but instead this kid has a name and his/her name is ‘fill in the blank.’ But some reason when it comes to her, I don’t see her name anymore without anything attached. Almost as if my mind has warped from remembering her, to remembering the disease that took her. And that is not what I want to do at all. I want to smother it out, and forget all about it.

But instead of remembering her when I hear a song, or see a color. Instead of remembering her when I hear a laugh, or a shriek of joy…I remember her when I see the word “Cancer” or “Tumor.” Instead I see her in the hospital windows, in the words that parents write when their child has been diagnosed. In the pain I see other people going through while trying to beat this, because life is so fragile, but so wonderful at the same time.

I want to remember her for who she was, not what took her. I want to remember her for my little girl, and not the girl who wasn’t strong enough to fight anymore. I want her here, and not cancer. But instead, another year has come and passed. Another year without her. Another year with the six letter word that has taken more lives. And hurt more people. And this year…I just don’t want to associate with it. I don’t want the ribbon. I want my daughter. I don’t want the committees for cures, I want the damn cure already.

This year, I know all the people in my life who have been effected. This year I see all the faces of people who may not have been able to beat it. This year I see the people who are still fighting. I see a sick combination of healthy/sick people. And I see the common thread that runs between. This year, I don’t want to give it the attention it doesn’t deserve. But will…for those people still fighting. This year, I hope is the year that a cure is found.

And I will keep hoping. Because sometimes all you have left is hope. No matter how small.

Please let me share her with you, and know that she was more. More than cancer.

She was my daughter.

I never expect it. Ok I do. I always think that the day will go down without a hitch. That things are ok, because honestly, 99% of the time – things really are ok. But then the day comes, and slaps me off my feet and the only thing I can think is “Its been too long, get the fuck over yourself.”

I wanted to spend the day – with the one who made the day possible. But I couldn’t. And so I decided a long time ago, that I would go without the day. Because to me it was simply – pointless.

But she decided that she would invite the man who reserves the place as splitting part of the blame for my existence. And she decided that I would give him a dinner. A lunch. A meal. That I would give him something. And while I wanted to run, and get upset, saying there were so many other ways to spend the day – I didn’t. Because I thought of all the people who miss their own dads. And I figured that just because I don’t care for my own, I can atleast pay some respect to those who have lost theirs.

They fought. They yelled. She told him he could have done something to help me turn out better than I did. I said a few things but the words were drowned under the yelling. Then he left.

I spent some time with the family of my friend who died almost a year ago. The pain. Is just so real, that I wished for a moment I could take it away from them. I wondered why my own “Dad” was still living, and not theirs. Why I was still living, and not him.

They put up the smiles, said they were ok – and even though I knew they weren’t – I went with it because sometimes “Being ok” is not being ok around people who know your not.

And when you burst into unexpected tears and the most unexpected moments – you don’t have to do anything. Except wonder how you can just take it all away and replace it…

Because those kids, deserve their dad.

They deserve the man that he was.

He earned the title, the name and the status.

And then I come home, and look at pictures that daily seem to age and no matter how hard I try I just cannot get them to keep up with time, and every time I look at them…they look more and more like something from a grandparents photo album, and not pictures of my little girl.

I think Im prepared, but every year, it gets me off guard. And maybe that’s why – because Im off guard. Or maybe its because I see things differently each year, and this year I see this family, those kids, growing up with the man who meant the world to them, and I wish, so bad, that I could take his place.

People ask if the kids and I did anything. No. We did not. Because I am not their dad. I am no more their dad, than I am their mom. I do not celebrate mothers day – for myself. And I do not celebrate fathers day – for myself. I am not a father. I am not a daddy.

I am simply a person, with very little status, and a whole lot of aging photos.