Letters From Dad - Kim Wilson (17)

     My dad always told me that he would never have time or remember to write cards for each holiday or birthday. He then decided to hand write one hundred and fifty cards for many different occurrences in my life, not just holidays. He wrote for every holiday, when I started driving, my prom, my wedding, and any other important milestone in someone's life. He tucked them all in a drawer and told us to only open them at the right time.
     Last year, my dad was on his way back from a business trip and he died. His body was never found, yet we still had a funeral. I never believed he was really gone, but the amount of blood in the car pointed toward his death. I cried.
     I would count down the days until I got to open the first letter. It might sound weird but I really wanted to see something he wrote. I wanted to to see his handwriting on last time. I was really close to my dad. My mother never took any interest in me, just my cousin. My dad, however, spent most of his free time with me. We both loved painting, so that's how we passed time. We would sit in our "studio" and listen to music as we painted what we saw in the world.
     Months passed, and I finally got to the day I could open one of the letters. I woke with light falling on my eyes. It seemed so peaceful outside. Today was Valentine's Day, the first one without my dad. Today I wasn't going to wake up to heart shaped pancakes. (They really weren't heart shaped, but my dad tried his hardest.) I was going to wake up to a letter. The last few pieces of him.
     I walked down the stairs; my mother was still asleep. I slowly crept over to the drawer that held the letters. I wasn't sure what to expect. I was almost too scared to open one.
      "Valentine's Day 2012," it read. I turned the letter over in my hand and sat down on the sofa. I opened the it, the letter slipping out easily. I couldn't believe what I read before me. I wouldn't have believed he wrote what I read, if not for his unique handwriting. His signature was in the corner, slightly faded.

     "How are doing without me?" It read.