Dear Dad,
When I went hiking yesterday up to Deer Lake, I thought about when you used to read stories to me when I was little. I remember Treasure Island was one of my favorites. Sometimes, I'll find myself thinking about you. I don't visit often, but I do think about you. It makes me sad most of the time, not because you're not here anymore, but because you're not around to see how different I used to be. I feel like I've grown as a person and I think as a daughter. When you were sick, I didn't know how to connect with you and my head was focused on other things. I was selfish, and I'll always feel terrible about that.
Sometimes, I feel like you're nearby, in the trees, in the fresh mountain air. That somehow you're there to comfort me, and tell me not to worry. On this trip, I've learned to worry so much less. Society puts so much weight on silly things that don't matter, and less on what really matters. Family, friendship, love, adventure, our passions and dreams. I'm trying my best to follow my heart and do what makes me happy. I feel like if I do, somehow, people I surround myself will want to follow their hearts and be happy too. I wish I could have shared that with you.
I hope my memories of you won't fade over time. Making birdhouses in the garage, watching you work on your scripts, eating tv dinners, endless trips to the hardware store, flushing my dead fish down the toilet, playing games with me even when you didn't want to. I miss you and wish I could have loved you more when you were around.
Love,
Stevie