We're barreling toward 2006, and you're not here to see it with us. I am so sorry I didn't see you more often. Truth be known, I was scared. Scared that every time I saw you, I would see that a little more of you has died. Now that you're truly gone, I wish I could have had one last conversation with you. I would tell you about how I love being a mother and how wonderfully my two children are growing up. I would tell you about how happy OX is to be alive. I would bring OX to you so you can hold your first grandson. I would bring Z. to you so you can laugh and enjoy what a special little personality she is.
For the rest of my life, not just 2006, I resolve to be as kind and generous as you were with many people beyond our family circle. You were a loved man. I think life didn't turn out the way you would've liked it to, but despite the setbacks and hard immigrant's life, you still found ways to experience joy and took pleasure in the simple things.
You and I didn't see eye to eye on many things, but I always respected your opinion. You always had perfectly logical reasons for your decisions and ideas, and I appreciate that you respected us enough to explain why we should or shouldn't do certain things. I also appreciate that you allowed me to make my own choices and not dictate how my life should go. I didn't always make the right choice, but boy, I did learn hard from my mistakes.
Please rest in peace knowing that I have a loving husband, two wonderful children and a comfortable life where we never have to worry about where our next meal is coming from and that we can afford a good life for our kids.
We love and miss you terribly. You are always in my heart.
So heartfelt and sweet. I say that as a father and has someone who lost his own parents far too soon.
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