Early Friday morning, Nov. 4, I received a call that my daddy had gone to be with Jesus.
Obviously, my emotions have been going crazy. I should have spent more time with him, I wish Alyssa had made those butterscotch cupcakes for him sooner, etc. I guess no matter when it happened, we will always have those regrets.
He called me Thursday night. We chatted about how busy I've been, etc. I told him I missed him and that we had to get together soon. My last words to him were, "I love you." At least I can feel peace about that.
I will never again get to tease him about being old, fight with him about his psycho cat, watch sci-fi movies with him, get annoyed when he gets onto us about texting too much, or discuss traditional vs modern music in church. I will never again get to eat his homemade ice cream, gang up on him with my stepmom, or get a daddy hug.
I know he's with Jesus. I know his legs don't hurt anymore. I know he's happy and at peace. I am thankful for that.
But I miss my daddy.