Nine year ago today, I was preparing to take flight as a young adult, exploring, working and having a TON of fun.
23 year-old me was packing my suitcase and flying south to Tucson, Arizona, to work on a burrowing owl project.
A good friend, my mom, and my dad came to see me off at the Dorval airport. That was the last time I ever saw my dad.
Fun and adventure was cut short when, on August 21, just a week before I was to return home, I got the worst phone call of my life – my mom – letting me know my dad suddenly died.
Falling to the floor, I somehow made it home, a constant stream of tears from the phone call to, oh, months later.
I miss my dad. If there was anyone who ever truly understood me – it was him. We’re very alike. He’s a very good role model and life has just felt weird ever since he left. It sucks that he got to meet Henry – but funny in a way, because the opposite of that was a big sadness while I was pregnant.
So here’s to it being nearly a decade since I last saw my dad.
He’s been gone eight and a half years. I still want him to be proud of me.