My dearest father,

I am wiping away tears as I write to you because I just finished watching the video again. I wish you were still here. kuv txiv es. Oh, how there are so many things to update you on. Since I last wrote to you, I did turn 30. Right at the same moment I came in to the world 30 years ago, I was at a Kmart looking for my first floral arrangement to bring to your gravesite. And when I got to your grave and placed the calla lilies there, it felt so empty. I guess I just missed you calling me and telling me "Happy birthday Sias-Lis" . I listened to all my voicemails hoping that maybe I had saved one of your messages for me, but I guess I must have deleted them. How was I to know these messages would stop coming? That you would stop calling me. I wanted to hug you so much on my birthday Daddy--so much that I just wrapped my arms around the cold marble slab, the piece of stone that now holds a sketching of your beautiful face and your name, held it tight and cried quietly. Did you hear the words that my heart spoke at that moment? Dad, can I confess to you, this was a terrible birthday. For all my birthdays, presents or parties or dinners never mattered much--I have always just wanted to be with my family. Remember how we have gone away the last 3 summers? The first was to Brainerd, the second was up north, and our last family trip was to that private lake in Wisconsin. But, we did not do it this year. I guess it just didn't feel right since you were missing. And sadly, from this birthday onward, you will always be missing. And it will never ever be the same again....

Well, I have been at my new job for a week now but I've managed to tear up already. On my first full day of clinic, mom and the family sent me the most beautiful flowers. The message mentioned that you would have been so happy if you were still here. I choked up as I read it, because I know this to be true. I still have the flowers on my desk, and every time I look at them, I think of you and how happy you are from wherever it is you now are...

She who keeps a picture of her father at her desk,
Me