The letter that can’t be sent
Ten years a son has gone without his father, but ten years that he has learned all the lessons you tried to teach me
Today is my high school graduation. It has been too long since I’ve heard your voice or seen your face. It’s been a rough nine years. I’ve been through a lot, seen a lot, and had a lot of life lessons. I am grateful for all of the people in my life. I’m grateful for everything in it, as well. But no matter what, it still feels like something is missing. You.
They say time heals all wounds, but they never tell you that the scars are going to be with you forever. As I take pictures with friends and family, and look through the crowd to find people at the ceremony, it’ll be your face I want to see most. I want to walk down after getting my diploma and see you in the crowd saying “Took ya long enough.”
I want to see that proud face you used to make when I got a tackle in football or hit the ball in baseball. I wanted so badly this year to cross the finish line after winning an 800 and see you there. Coaching me. Not congratulating me, but telling me how I ran and how I could do better the next time. Telling me the same things I tell myself after even my best race.
I want you to meet my girlfriend, Dad. She’s perfect for me. She reminds me of all the fun times you and I had together.
I want you to see how Paul has done. He’s done the best he could and that’s something neither of us asked him to do, but he did it anyway, and I’m forever grateful. I want you to be here for Zoe. She’s about to graduate from Ohio State next year, and I know she misses you just as much as I do. I want you to be here with mom and help her out as her children go off into the world. But no matter how badly I miss you, or how painful the tears may be, you will be lost to me forever. So much in the world reminds me of you. From the old songs we used to listen to on the radio to hearing Zoe scream at the Buckeyes when they mess up.
I never realized that every great moment or achievement in my life would be so bitter sweet. All I could think about when I won races this year was how you couldn’t be there to see me. I ran every race for myself to make you proud.
But I will never let your death be something that brings me down and keeps me there. That’s something you’d hate to happen to me. Your death made me stronger. It made me wiser than my friends by years. The pain I felt is something I hope I never have to feel again, but I know that I will be able to. A wise man once said that life’s too short kiddo. That man was you.
Daddy, it’ll be ten years this December since you died. Ten years a son has gone without his father, but ten years that he has learned all the lessons you tried to teach me. I’m still learning from you, Dad. I hope that when I have kids I will be as great of a dad as you were. I thank you for everything. Especially now in track season for being a 400 runner so I can be a little faster for my races. But most of all, I thank you for being tough on me, but being the most caring and loving father anyone could ask for.
Now, as I put on my cap and gown, I hope that you are looking down on me. Smiling, the way you always did when I did something to make you proud. I love you Dad and I miss you more now than I ever have.
Love your son,
Kyle Henry John Weaver.