tylercoates:

There are times in which I catch myself thinking about my dad, suddenly sad that I can’t call him or send him an email with a stupid picture that I know would make him laugh. There are times when I want to clench my fists and punch the walls, kick the furniture, shout at the top of my lungs because I MISS MY FATHER and I WANT HIM BACK. But I can’t do that, because I feel like it’s counterproductive to getting over the fact that something bad happened to me once. There’s no use in dwelling on it and letting it destroy everything I can accomplish in the future, despite being a thing that happened in the past that has shaped the way I am today.

Dead Dad’s Club. No one chooses to be in it, but it’s comforting when someone writes about it so eloquently.  My dad and I used to email (articles, links, news stories) back and forth a few times a day while we were both at our jobs.  When I had a few down minutes, I’d dial his work switchboard (“extension 2229, please.” “One moment.”)

Those emails are now put away in a Gmail folder marked “Laird,” which I like to read now and then.  I have a million pictures of us together, even some recordings of him playing his acoustic guitar on the porch.  But the emails I love the most.  Sometimes I wonder who has his cell phone number now, or who works in his old office where he’d send me emails during the day.  I still have my old cell phone that has my last text messages from him in there.  I miss him.