Good morning, Dad,

I couldn’t sleep last night because a) I drank two Cokes before bed and b) I am SO afraid that you’re going to come visit me. I never really, truly, fully believed in ghosts until you told me that you saw your mom watching you sleep after she died. If you saw it, it’s true, because you’re just not crazy. Everybody else who has told me about their ghost experiences? Well, they just might be crazy. If anybody was going to visit me, I’d want it to be you, but I really don’t want you to visit me. I promise it would freak me out to the point of maybe never being able to sleep with the lights off again. The entire family is delighting in teasing me about this, telling me tonight’s the night you’re going to visit. I know we talked about this when you were alive, the fact that I NEVER want a visit, so I don’t think you’ll do it. They insist that you liked to tease me so much that you will do it just to get a rise out of me. Prove them wrong, Dad. Please prove them wrong.

I forgot to tell you the best part of church last night. At the beginning of mass, Father Sunny (?) had the ushers pass out copies of the homily so we could follow along. He told us he’s heard rumors that he’s hard to understand and asked everyone to be patient while he learns the language. Until then, copies of the homily. Amen.

The worst part of church? No music! There was not a single song sung. I couldn’t believe it. No opening hymn. No communion hymn. No hymn while the ushers take our money. No exit hymn. What’s a church without music? Whack, that’s what. To make it worse, I had told Red that we should go on Saturday night because that’s when they sing the best songs. You KNOW she let me hear about that.

I’ve been meaning to tell you how touching it was to open your bottom drawer in the bedroom and see a collection of every card your children have ever given you. As we went through the other drawers, I saw where you got it from. We found several cards that you had given your own mother when you were a kiddo. We also found letters that you had written…to Santa, to Uncle Frank, etc. My first reaction after the initial joy that you’d hung on to them for all these years, was to wonder why you’d never shown them to us sooner. I think it must be because they are so damn funny and you knew we would find them when you died and have a much-needed giggle in such a shitty time. My very favorite was the letter to Uncle Frank thanking him for the shirt (now you have two red shirts!) and saying JoAnn likes her fancy pants. You ended it by saying “P.S. I got skates for Christmas. It’s my hobby.” Cutest thing ever! We laughed so hard. We also very much enjoyed the Santa list from when you were five years old. You asked for a bulldozer, a plow truck, a grader, and a log truck. How’s that for foreshadowing?! Sure, you asked for a ranch and a guitar too, but I think the list was slanted pretty heavily in favor of your future County life…and the woodworking hobby.

All this hobby talk reminds me of when we were writing your obituary. Judy asked if you had any hobbies and Red asked her to put that your hobby was “reducing your carbon footprint.” I know you would have appreciated that. Moving in with Nick has forced me to become a hardcore recycler but, let’s face it, we all basically feel like you’ve reduced our carbon footprints enough for us to be lazy about saving the world.

The roads are shitty and it won’t stop snowing, but we’re going to head to Duluth and see just how well your Chevy handles this bologna weather.

Love,
Angie