Note: This post is from July 2015.

Hi, Dad. I can’t believe you’ve been gone two years now. So much has changed since we last spoke in person. Sean has graduated from college with not one but two business degrees and is now working for Fidelity Investments. He always liked being around money. Robin is starting his senior year at Appalachian State University and is already directing and producing TV shows, plus he recently was named the App State digital media correspondent for the Sun Belt Athletic Conference. You would be so very proud of them.

Me? I’m doing just fine. I’m taking good care of your truck, and I’m always careful to not slam its doors. Remember that guy I told you about — the one I felt a weird instant connection to from the first time we met? Well, we finally got together and are getting married in November. He’s not a Cowboys fan, but I’ll work on him. We’ve been living together for about a year and a half now — the neighbors back home would call it “living in sin,” but it turns out that this sin is just fine. 

I’ll miss having you walk me down the aisle at my wedding — and yes, I know I should’ve listened to you the first time when you advised me to make a run for it — but this time it feels like the real thing. I’ve asked Sean and Robin to walk me down the aisle in your place, and I’m quite sure they are more than ready to give me away. 

Mama seems to be doing fine. She misses you terribly though — well, we all do, but she probably has the biggest hole in her heart, of course, after living with you for more than 50 years. The neighbors and several relatives check in on her. I hope to be seeing more of her, too. 

I miss you, Daddy. I miss hearing you call me “baby” — no one does that any more. I miss our philosophical discussions about anything and everything, even things that don’t seem very deep at the time. You understood me when I felt weird in comparison with other people. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. You empowered me to be whatever I wanted and to do whatever I wanted in an age when young women were just beginning to get that permission from society. While I haven’t made it to U.S. senator yet, there’s still time if the mood (and the millions) strike me. 

I hope that wherever you are — and whatever there is in the great beyond — that you are having a grand old time. What I wouldn’t give to hear that belly laugh of yours again! Thanks for all the reminders that you’re still around — I notice and cherish them. (Nice touch adding a Don Williams song to my alarm clock, by the way.) I love you, and I’m always your little girl.