Easier does not mean easy.

Here I am, another anniversary of the death of my dad, and missing him terribly. For those who may not know, this was my step-dad. My biological male and I do not speak, nor do I wish to. The man I am referring to was a good man - a strong man. Tony and I were not blood, but we sure felt like it. I connected to him in the ways that a daughter should connect with her dad. We joked, he gave me advice, he told me no. He waited up for me when I was out, even though he pretended he didn't. We'd tell stories over 2 am snacks. Although, his cheese and tabasco sandwiches were so darn weird to me. ;) And when I had circus peanuts, I knew to hide them or he'd eat them all! :)

When I was scared, I could turn to him. When I needed help, I could turn to him. And when I needed to be somebody's little girl, I could turn to him. Granted, he was not without his faults. And there are many things in life (especially where I am in my life now) that he would not approve of. But he loved me, and I loved him. I was one of those children of divorce. I always wished for a mom and dad in the same home. The, it happened again. I was thrilled. Even though I was out on  my own by this point in time, I still had my wish come true.

Tony taught me to cook, how to fix a toilet, the difference between wrenches (although I admit I forget this lesson), and how to be confident. He knew when a guy wasn't right for me. He was protected, like dad's should be. When I'd go out with my friends, he'd help me with fashion advice, and how to deal with men. Even after all of this time, I still forget he's gone sometimes and think of calling him to ask how to cook a roast, or what vegetables to put into a soup. And then I remember I can't. I can't get up on Saturday morning and go to breakfast with him at Gizmos (this is what he called Gimmick's). We can't gossip over coffee and newspapers anymore.

But, I can still love him. I can still remember him and all of the great things we did together and all of the great memories I have of us. And I will. I'll be happy he is no longer sick. I'll be happy I can't get a lecture about skipping around the world. (haha) And I'll be happy that for a few years of my life, he was my dad.