In a couple of days it will have been one year since my dad died. This whole Father's Day thing is just going to be terrible for me forever... my dad died on June 17, his birthday was June 22, and Father's Day is always right around those days. Three whammies all at once.

Last year I brought the Father's Day card I got for him to his funeral. I had bought it before my husband and I went on a cruise to Alaska -- we arrived home on Sunday night to find out that he had died on Friday morning. The next morning we drove to Ohio for the funeral. I took the card and read it to my dad when I saw him. I wanted to put it in the casket with him but my husband didn't think I should. So now it's in the back of a picture frame, the one that holds my favorite photo of my dad from when he was about 22.

My mom is getting ready to retire and move into her parents' farmhouse -- Grandma passed away in February, and my mom is buying their property and is going to live there. So a few weekends ago my sisters and I were all going through all our old toys and stuff from school, boxing things up to take to our own houses, and my mom gave me some of my dad's and my grandparents' things. I have an apron my grandmother made, an ashtray my dad made and a bunch of his college books, my grandfather's locksmithing certificate, and a few of my other grandmother's ceramic turtles from her turtle collection. I used to have four grandparents and a father, and now all I have is a few of their things.

For the past couple of weeks I've been such a mess. No sleep, and bawling all the time. I can hardly stand to read the Confessional thread these days because whenever someone complains about their parents I just sit here and cry. And think about how much I would give to hear my dad's voice again. Yelling at me or anything, I don't care. Just to hear his voice.