3 years

It’s been three years since my dad left us. It feels longer and shorter than that at the same time.

He’s with me everyday they say; he watches over you and protects you. I will say I do know he’s here, because I remind me of him all the time.

My ex and I were discussing some topics the other day. He says “Why do you always plan for the worst Paige?! Why do you always think of the worst case scenarios?” I stopped in my breath to answer, and just laughed. I had asked my dad the very same two questions when I was 16.

“I don’t hope the worst happens Paige, I just plan for when it does,” My dad said back to me. I remember being so mad at him during that conversation, but now I know why he does it. So he’s prepared with how to move forward and keep driving on.

Another thing my ex and I were discussing was “You’re too honest Paige. You won’t even take one item, or fudge a story even a tiny bit because you’re worried someone will find you out and ruin you,” he said. I again smiled to myself and said “Because my dad taught me better and would have caught me if I did. He always did.”

I’m that girl who stops at EVERY stop sign, uses my blinker every turn, picks up trash that doesn’t belong to me, stays out of trouble, and is always prepared for the worst. I’ve always been like that. I would get more in trouble with my mom and dad for lying than I did for breaking a lamp or coming home late.

I wasn’t a mischievous kid, but my dad wanted me to be the best at everything I tried. And damned if he wasn’t right, because most everything I do, I’m top percentile. I didn’t see it until I turned 29, that I’m more of a rarity than the norm. It took someone completely unbiased to tell me one day. And then another at work. And then I realized most people in my life had told me these things; I wasn’t listening because my critical voice in my mind was much louder, and sometimes deafening.

I am in no way saying I’m perfect, because I don’t want to be. I just want to be the best version of myself, laugh and learn from my mistakes and always strive to be better. For you dad, I will not be ordinary, I will be extraordinary, like you told me I was and would be. You’re not gone, just physically not here. But you’re always with me, every time I smile, run, and make jokes. Love you Dad.