looking back all I can say about all the things he did for me:

i hate this. i hate hate hate it. i hate the fact that a simple memory can drive me to tears. holidays are not going to be fun this year, i'm sorry but it's the truth. i don't see how any of you guys can be pretending that everything is going to be alright and normal this year. no, it won't be and don't even pretend that it could possibly ever be.

thanksgiving will not be fun. thanksgiving will not be an incredible holiday started off by going to my great-grandma's house. he will not be sneaking me pieces of the turkey when it's still juicy because he knows thats when i like it best. he will not be grabbing me and pulling me into a hug and asking me if i'm still his girl. He won't be starting off his sentences with "I remember a little girl who used to..."

That little girl you're talking about is sitting in her bed crying right now. Are you proud of her? She wants you to be. She knows you wouldn't want her crying over you, but she can't help it. She has so many regrets, one of the major ones being not telling you how much you meant to me before i lost the chance to. I think you knew though, I hope you knew.

I have so many memories of you, and all of them seem to come flooding back into my mind when I want them away the most. Not that I ever, ever, EVER want you to be forgotten, but sometimes I can't think about it because it hurts too much.

I especially think about you the closer we get to this holiday season. This whole time of year makes me think of you. But honestly, so does every day of my life.

Tomorrow is Jack of Hearts. Last year you stood beside Nanny and smiled proudly at what his little girl had become. Would you still be proud if you saw me today?

I can't help but think about exactly how much you were there for me. One time that sticks out is when I broke my wrist and was in the hospital. Nothing required you to drive out to the hospital to see me, but you did. You even stayed when you were tired, just to make sure his little girl wasn't alone in the hospital room.

You held my hand. You let me sit on your lap even though I had long past grown too big for it. You didn't mind, you just saw me as your little girl and nothing could change that. You'd always hold my hand wherever I went, and I miss that feeling. Your hands were always calloused and rough from all the farm work you did, and yet I loved it. They were large and my tiny hands fit in them. They were comforting.

The other day we had a long conversation on dead people in Forensics. About what they do with the body when they're setting up the funeral. And I was forced back to those brief two minutes at the visitation when I finally got a moment at your casket alone. When I brought my hand down to your chest and I couldn't feel your heart beating anymore and it finally sunk in that you weren't going to hug me ever, ever again

You weren't who I knew in that casket. Your skin was caked in make-up and it just didn't look like you at all. You looked fake. Plus seeing you laying so still. I think in the sixteen years that you were a part of my life, I never once saw you laying down unless you were holding me. You never stayed still.

I really have to stop now. There's so many words I want to say but I'm so emotionally drained right now. But I have enough emotions for four more:

i love you, Papa