RHItarded

Happy Easter, Dad.

It’s too bad that the last picture taken of us wasn’t very good. 

So, it’s the first year without you. It’s my first holiday without you. Easter, too. You always liked Easter. So, for every holiday that passes, I’m going to write you a letter and share a memory that I have with you. It keeps you around, you know? I kind of think that’s important.

I remember Easter in Rush, Henrietta. I remember how you used to hide eggs with spare change in them. You painted a pantyhose egg gold - that was the big egg. It had five bucks in it, to start. We used to have dinner at Uncle Pete’s house and sit around the table and share thoughts and eat ham. The ham was always really great.

We’re making a ham tonight. Some beans and some home made mac and cheese. I’m really excited, it’s going to be good. Joe tried to eat a spoon full of cinnamon and coughed it up all over the place like a dragon spewing flames. It was really funny. Things are going pretty okay, Dad. But I have my moments.

Just the other day, I started to cry, thinking about you. Alicia told me a story about how she was in the bank and she was watching an older man in front of her get out single dollars and change to hide in eggs. She realized, as did I, that you would never be able to meet your grandchildren. You wouldn’t be able to hide eggs for them and you wouldn’t be able to watch them grow. 

I had a voicemail saved on my phone for the longest time. “Rhionna, this is your father. Haven’t heard from you in a while, thought I’d give you a ring. Ah, just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Heard you were in the hospital again. Better take care of yourself or I’m going to come up there and put a boot up your ass. Love you honey. Bye.” I remember it, I used to listen to it and laugh. If I had a penny for every time you threatened to put a boot up my ass, I’d be rich. You always told me who was calling, too. You always said, “This is your father.” And it always tickled me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that when you were alive.

Well today is a big deal to Lutherans and Christians alike. And if your religion did anything for you, I’m sure that you can sense these words and know that you’re loved. We didn’t tell each other ‘I love you’ in the past year or so, but we knew. I got to spend a lot of time with you in Florida. Sue ad I were down in Ruskin, just the other day. We went to Simmon’s Park. You have to pay to get in now!

Oh man, I can just imagine what you’d have to say about that. I’ll end this letter with that thought: the rant you’d have about paying for public parks. Haha!

Your daughter,
Rhi