Donald Lyle Hein
July 18, 1944 - August 12, 2008
Since I felt your warm daddy bear hug.
Since I heard your voice. A voice I'm starting to forget.
Since I felt your moustache tickle my face when you kissed my cheek.
Since I smelled your daddy-smell - a combination of Old Spice, the outdoors, and bourbon.
Since I held your hand.
I miss you terribly.
I thought that as time went on - this day - this passage of time - would somehow get easier. I suppose it does - I'm not completely crippled like I was a few years ago. I'm able to smile through the tears when I think of you and the memories that comprise my childhood.
But I'd be lying if I said this day didn't completely derail me.
I wish you were here - to see your grandsons and their huge smiles. To see how they engulf life - and enjoy every moment out of it - just like you did. So you could see how each child has a bit of you in them - Jack with his love of music and need to stop whatever he's doing at whatever moment in time if he feels the 'beat' and needs to dance. James with his non-stop giggles and smiles and complete ease with strangers - talking to anyone and everyone who will listen - charming them to no end. Anna with her never-ending imagination, and adoration of the sea.
It's just so unfair. I hate that you had to leave so soon. I hate that these kids are growing up without knowing you - without having had the chance to curl up on your lap and listen to the great classical overtures with you - without knowing the comfort of your Old Spice/outdoor daddy smell - without feeling your moustache scratch their tender cheeks when you would have kissed them goodnight.
And I hate it for selfish reasons - I want you here - to help me figure out what to do with my daughter - who I think is a lot like I was as a child - often lost in the imaginary world ... so I want your perspective of what it was like to raise me.
I just want you here.
I miss you.
I love you.