Thread by @RexHuppke

1/ If you'll indulge me a somewhat lengthy thread...

My dad died last year, and the end of 2017 had me thinking a lot about that. So I wrote him a letter. I don't know if it's of value to anyone but me, but I'm sharing it on the off chance it is.

2/ Dear Dad:

I know you’ll think this is ridiculous. Writing a letter to a dead person is something you would’ve filed under “Complete Wastes of Time” or “Mystical Hocus-Pocus.” It kind of goes against all the atheistic pragmatism you preached, but that sensible stuff...

3/ ...never rubbed off on me anyway.

So here we are.

Assuming you were wrong about the afterlife — “dead is dead” was your analysis, if I remember correctly — you’re probably wondering why I’m sharing this letter. “Who would want to read all that stuff?” you’d say.

4/ I can’t answer that. I guess I hope there are others who’ve lost someone this year and that maybe letting them in will do some good, somehow.

Or maybe this one’s just for me. Maybe it’s just something I have to write because that’s what I do. Maybe it’s selfish. I don’t know.

5/ What I do know is this: I’ve never had a year end without you being in this world. I’ve never seen the ball drop or turned the calendar to a new year without a father.

And I can’t get that to feel OK.

6/ You’ve been gone six months and I still don’t quite have my feet under me. I still reach for the phone to call. I still want to share good news with you. I still have questions to ask.

I find myself drifting back into that hospital room where we said goodbye too often.

7/ I don’t want to be there — I don’t want to remember you that way — so I chase those thoughts out.

And I wonder where you might be now. I know, I know — dead is dead. But give me this one, dad.

8/ You certainly weren’t the rise-up-to-heaven, sprout wings and play a harp type. And if it wound up that way, your eyes would roll so hard you would fall off a cloud.

9/ I like to think a man of science, freed from his earthly vessel, might be soaring about in search of hidden truths. I imagine you riding waves of light or exploring electron clouds, drifting through rain forests, studying the internal dynamics of a plume of smoke.

10/ I imagine your mind full of wonder. That would be your heaven — endless, uninterrupted thoughts.

I suppose, for those of us left behind, that’s the best we can do — envision the people we loved so much existing on in a state of utter joy.

11/ Crazy, right? You probably wouldn’t approve of such a fanciful vision. But unless you come across a phone or email account in the great beyond, your complaints will go unheard and I’ll keep wishing for you the afterlife I think you’d love. So there.

12/ I better go. While your responsibilities have been greatly reduced, mine haven’t let up a bit.

Happy New Year, Dad. I’ll be in touch, always.

And whether you like it or not, I’ll picture you riding the occasional shaft of light that bends through my window.

Love,

- Rex