15 Years Later

He smelled like fresh cut grass and crisp, blue men’s cologne. His hair was often damp. For some reason he always showered like 3 times a day. Whenever possible, his living room windows were pushed open, and he was working away in the yard on whatever project he had hyper fixated on that afternoon. He was fiercely loyal. The things and people that he loved, including his work, got his everything. He was a passionate man. When he felt things, he felt them hard. I only ever saw him cry a few times, but when he did, he really cried. There was something about his laugh. Just thinking about its echo makes me want to giggle a little. It was infectious. His best friend was our long-haired papilon, Remington, a real manly name for such a terrified mouse of a dog. On more than one occasion, I caught them sharing the same ice cream bar. One lick for dad. One lick for the dog. And the pattern would continue. 

This week marked 15 years since the day my dad died. It’s an incredibly surreal feeling. I feel so far away from the person I was when he passed away, the version of myself that he knew, but losing him doesn’t ever feel far away. Sure, time makes it a little easier. I’m not as sad as often, but I’m still deeply saddened when I sit and think about all that he continues to miss. I wish more than anything that he could have met my church community. Those people have changed my life, and it’s all right here in his hometown. I think that he would really love my best friend. I think that even if church never became his scene, he would be at every big event, supporting me. I think he would have really loved the music there, and loved even more that his kid was up on that stage sometimes. I truly hope that he would be so proud of me, of who I’m working to become. 

I wish he knew his grandkids. Those babies light up my entire world. I literally sit and watch videos of them when I am sad. They are the first thing I talk about when other people ask how I am doing. Just when I think my heart couldn’t possibly hold more love, Freyja says, “I love you, Kaela,” or Zeppelin smiles at me, and it's all over. I swear my heart triples in size. My dad would have lost his mind over those kids. I just know one of his favorite pastimes would have been running around with Freyja outside, blowing bubbles, and hunting for squirrels. She loves anyone that spends that kind of one on one time with her doing her favorite things, but I just know her and my dad would have been best buds. I mean, Auntie Kaela will obviously always be the favorite, but Grandpa Tony would have been really incredible competition for that title. 

I don’t know, man. 15 years doesn’t even seem possible. I miss him. A lot. I don’t think that pain will really ever leave. God has done a whole lot of work in and through me to heal some of the brokenness I tend to picture when I think about my dad. My entire teenage and adult life I’ve been working on forgiving him and healing from the pain from the trauma his addiction exposed me to. And now, 15 years later, there is still some sadness surrounding the thoughts around the little girl that I was. I wish she didn’t have to endure so much, but I don’t hold any of it against my dad. I just wish he was still here. I wish there was a dad to reconcile all of those things with, instead of just long conversations with God. I treasure those prayers, but I miss the human presence of a dad. Not just any dad. I miss mine.

Anthony Grinzinger was a really special human being. I think the two of us as adults could have had some really wonderful talks. I think becoming an adult and taking a job in his hometown would have drawn us closer together. I bet he would have had crazy tea to spill about the people I see all the time that he grew up going to Catholic School with. I wish I could still be listening to his stories of raising farm animals, running around Mount Pleasant, and becoming the man that I knew. I’ll always be sad I didn’t get that chance. 

15 years have been swept away in a whirlwind. I drew a couple breaths, and here I sit, having journeyed without a dad cheering me on for 15 years. I like to think I’m stronger for it. I know what I’ve been through is a big contributor to who I am today, but no girl should have to grow up without her dad. I would hand over any extra strength I have as a result if that meant I got more years with him. 

There’s no real climactic memory or take away from this today. I just miss my dad. If yours is still here with us on this earth, maybe give him a call for me today. Maybe give him an extra hug if you’re able to. Life is heartbreakingly, profoundly, and beautifully short. Do what you need to do with that, please. 

You are truly and deeply loved.