Dad died in May of 1993. Since then, there hasn't been a single day that I have not thought about him, or missed him.
Today (yesterday to diurnal people), when the crisis came up about the car situation, I quietly reached the end of what I can handle, feeling like I was in quicksand with no one to offer me a branch. In a fraction of a second two thoughts went through my mind: 1) I need to call Dad and, 2) I can't call Dad. Then it occurred to me that I could write to him.
When you're in quicksand up to your chin, you'll try anything.
I opened up MS Word and let it pour out. I told him about the situation and how we're on a slippery slope to hell if we don't get some help soon. I confessed sins. I apologized. In short, I wrote to him exactly as I did when he was still here. As I saved and closed the document, I got an instantaneous sense that it was a done deal. I felt total peace. Then I went back to work.
It wasn't three hours later that Nettl came home and we figured out a solution to the issue. A really GOOD solution. Maybe Dad didn't "make it so", but maybe—just maybe—he opened our minds a little so that we could figure out some possibilities for ourselves.
I've decided to continue writing Letters To Dad. He doesn't seem so far away now.