Things have been rough. Three years ago last Thursday, my dad died from an aggressive form of cancer.
Although I was prepared for his death and had months to say good-bye, I never really had time to grieve. I let him go - I even told him that he had fought the good fight and finished the race and it was time for him to go get his crown in glory as he took his last breath - but letting him go home to the Father and healing all those empty places in my heart he left behind are two different things.
Now that I, for the first time in a long time, have some room to breathe, I've discovered I also have room to grieve. And it is hitting a lot harder than I ever expected. I thought I'd handled it so well.
I miss my Daddy. No matter what I did, my Dad always believed in me - always loved me. Even when I disappointed him, he would look at me and say, "Bethany, you're better than this. I know you're better and I know that when you get your head and heart right, you'll do better. I love you."
He also had confidence in me like no one else on this planet. He didn't just say I could do anything I set my mind to, he believed it. He knew I could do anything I wanted with my life. No one else in this world has ever had that kind of faith in me and there are days, like today, when I really really need someone to believe in me and I really miss him.
