May 29, 2005
Sunday Afternoon

Dear Dad,

As I sit behind this keyboard typing, I wonder what I am interrupting you from in Heaven. I'll try my best to keep brevity in mind, 'cause whatever you do in Heaven, it's got to be much more fun and interesting than reading anything I could write!

I miss you, dad.

I often wonder if you are very disappointed in me.
Then it occurs to me, "How can anyone whose in Heaven know any form of unhappiness " ......so I must assume that you are not disappointed. Then I really get confused. How could you NOT be disappointed in me, seeing how I've made one collossal mistake after another since you left us? Does that mean you don't care about me anymore?

You aren't here anymore to answer these questions of mine.

Ultimately I decided that if you were still here, you would have been deeply saddened seeing the choices I've made. Maybe even angry. In Heaven, though, God must give each soul a higher understanding, an understanding not comprehendible to the more simple minded, earthbound soul.

After your stroke, dad, you couldn't speak or swallow. That hospice nurse said, "He can't hear you. He isn't aware of what's going on around him." Dad, I know that was bullshit. You COULD hear me! Your eyes followed me wherever I went in your bedroom.

I feel somehow to blame, dad, for your having had that stroke that would claim your life 24 hours later. If I hadn't gone back to sleep after getting your meds...... I will always hate myself for that. Please, please forgive me!

I was the last thing you saw as you left your earthly body. One tear fell from your left eye as you looked at me, and then you were gone. I crawled onto the bed and hugged my daddy for the last time. I didn't want to leave you, but they made me leave the room.

I miss you, dad. So very much, every single day.

You were both mom and dad to me. I hope you know that I recognize how very difficult life was for you. You deserved so much better, Dad, and it's forever going to hurt me that you got far less from life than was your due.

In my mind, I will always be "Daddy's Little Baby Brat".

I think of you every day, even now, 7 years later. I always will. I would give anything to hear the sound of the garage door opening, and your car pulling in. It would be only a matter of a few minutes before the kitchen door would swing open and you would walk in, look over at me and say, "Hi!" in that hushed, happy sounding tone you used. At that point, Bootsie would run over to you, tail wagging so hard that her whole body seemed to wag. You'd bend down to her and say, "Hey! It's the little critter!"

I think about those things a lot. They are simple memories. They are among my most happy reflections.

I want to say "thank you," dad.

In my eyes, I could never have been blessed with a finer father. You may not have been rich, and able to secure my future with a trust fund....but you made me rich in ways far more meaningful, and far more lasting.

From you, I learned to see beauty in being humble. I learned that it is not the amount of worldly wealth that makes a person worthwhile, it's the gold in their heart that makes the person a treasure. You taught me that there is not one person in this world who is infallible, we all make mistakes, young and old alike. It's what we DO with the lessons we've learned that is most important.

Because of you, Dad, I learned what unconditional love was. We may have had our share of father/daughter disagreements over the years, and some of them were laced with angry words meant to sting. But always, always I knew that you loved me. I hope you knew, Dad, that I loved you, too.

Thank you for teaching me that a person should take pride in everything they do, and do it to the utmost of their ability. You taught me that there is no shame in a job done honorably, no matter how menial the work.

Through your very example, dad, I learned to see the beauty in having compassion for the plights of others. You taught me that if someone was in need, and I had the means to help them, I am to do so, even if my own rescources are scant......to do what I can, not turn away from a person who needs help.

All that is good about me: any parts of me that are loveable, kind, and admirable, are there because YOU instilled them in me. They are echoes of you, at home in my persona. They are the parts of who I am that I am most proud of. Thank you for bringing me up to know these things. I will carry them with me till the day I draw my own last breath.

Thank you, dad, for keeping to "our agreement". (You didn't forget)! I remember many years ago, we were having a discussion about what happens to us after our souls depart this world. We both agreed that whichever of us was to find out first would come back, somehow, and toss the one left behind some "signs". I want you to know, dad, that you're signs have been recieved by me, loud and clear. They have meant more to me than you can know. I hope that you will continue to do this for me from time to time, dad.

I remember when I was in the second grade, I had cut the palm of my hand open at school. I was carrying a plate from one classroom to another and had fallen down, my hand coming down hard onto the glass shards. I recall laying in the school nurses room, waiting for you to come get me so I could go to the hospital for stitches. I heard you before I ever saw you! The familiar sound was both a comfort and a joy to me: the change and keys in your pockets jingled as you walked down the hallway toward the nurses room door.

I expect you to keep your word about one other part of our "agreement". I told you that if I "go" after you do, I want to hear the change and keys jingling in your pockets when you come to get me on my last day. Then I won't be scared.

When I lost Bootsie last December, I lost everything. Bootsie was all I had left, after you passed on. She was right there with me, dad, throughout all the grief I felt from missing you. She washed away every tear that fell from my eyes.

I remember how you used to sit in your La-Z-Boy reclining chair, watching Bootsie and I interact. She was my pint sized shadow, following me everywhere I went, waiting at the door when I left her: the epitome of faithfulness.

You would get that look on your face, your eyes would grow a little misty, and you would smile. I can still hear you saying, "Paula, that little dog loves you!"

She truly stepped in for you, dad, the best a little dog knows how. She took it upon herself to take care of me. She did such a good job for a 14 pound "Kitsap critter"! After you left, I clung to Bootsie . I held onto her as one holds onto a life preserver as the ship is going down. We were inseperable.

The last week of her life, I prayed more rosaries and said more novena's than I think I have in my entire life as a Catholic. I literally begged God to not take her from me.

Those last two days before she passed, I talked to you alot, too. I know I sounded like a broken record. I remember saying over and over, "Dad, if something happens and Bootsie has to leave me, PLEASE, PLEASE come right away and get her! PLEASE take care of her for me until I can get to where you are!"

And you did.

There are no words, dad, to express the gratitude I feel for that. The tears that spill down my cheeks right now and blur the typed words on this screen probably say all that need to be said.

I contacted a internationally known pet psychic for a reading, and it "just so happened" that my check card (which was not lacking for money) would not go through. When I was finally able to get an appt by telephone, her next available appt wasn't until December 27th. (My birthday).

I will never forget what that woman said to me in those first few minutes of the reading. She knew next to nothing about me, my background, etc. She had only Bootsie's pic to draw from. Her first words to me still echo in my ears:

"Your dad is here. He's holding Bootsie in his arms and he says to tell you, "From your arms to mine.""

(Ok. I'm REALLY bawling now, haha.)

I am 36 years old now, dad.
I was 28 when you left me.
Whether I am 36 or 96, I will always need you.
I am always your little girl. And I will forever be so proud to say to all that YOU ARE MY DAD!

I love you.
I miss you.

Love
Your Baby Brat,
Paula Renee'

Paula Owens