I have some very fond memories of me and my father. He recently told me and my mother the same old story of us building my first birdhouse which still hangs in the tree in my front yard.  I was twelve years old and after we had drew the pieces out on the wood he allowed me to cut the pieces out myself with the jigsaw. Once I had the pieces cut I began putting them together and got frustrated because my pieces weren't butting up against each other evenly. He told me 'It's okay because this is your birdhouse. You can just tell people that you wanted it that way' and helped me finish putting it together. Once it was finished I realized that the hole was really little and the house was really short and began getting upset over my failed attempt at building a birdhouse. He then hugged me tightly and told me 'It's okay because you know there are short birds in the world just like your momma and this will be the perfect house for them'. I then went on to paint, decorate, and own my birdhouse. Now I look at is and I see this ugly lopsided short birdhouse but the memories that go along with that birdhouse makes it the perfect birdhouse.

Another memory is one that has been told me by various family members. When I was a little girl, toddler aged, I was a complete daddy's girl and every time he would come visit and hear him outside I would drop whatever I was doing and immediately run up to him screaming for him. One time in particular, they say I was around three years old and some cousins lived next door to where me and my mom lived.  I heard my dad's old fishing truck rumble into the driveway so I flew to the front door in excitement but my mom had latched the screen door shut to keep me inside. When I couldn't get out I screamed for my mom to open the door and let me out because my daddy had shown up to see me. 

It's no secret that my father couldn't read or write very well. When I was little he would always read me bedtime stories. As I got older I began to realize that he wasn't actually reading the words on the page he was making up stories by the pictures in the books. For my high school graduation he read me a children's book word for word for the very first time. I don't remember the title of the book but I do remember that it was about a little girl and her father going fishing, which is something we done over the years together.

Over the years a person's relationship changes. I started out as a daddy's girl but over the years a lot of resentment and anger had built up and built a bridge between the two of us. But over the last few months since I went to Nebraska and brought him home we have tried to overcome that bridge. He is no longer here for me to finish repairing our relationship but I need him to know that I forgive him for all the wrongdoings and mistakes he  made. I don't even know if he realized he was making them until it was too late but Daddy, you are forgiven. I'm sorry I didn't get to say it to you while you were here to hear it. I love you, daddy.