DEAR LISA | JENLISA

ONE

JENNIE

Eight days left

February 14
***

Dear Dad,

I'm dying, my wife is going to be a widow, and this has been the most wonderful year of my life.

How's that for surprising?

These past few weeks . . . months . . . I've been feeling things changing. Remember the time we all flew to California and drove home? I think I was ten. I remember being able to feel us getting closer to the East Coast, all those miles behind us, home getting closer, even when we still had hundreds of miles to go. You could feel it. You could tell you were getting close.

That's where I am these days.

But I'm too busy living to dwell on that fact. Like Red says in The Shawshank Redemption, get busy living, or get busy dying. I'm going with the first one.

People carry a terminal diagnosis differently. I wanted to ride on its back like it was a racehorse, Dad. I think I have. I can't say that being sick is the greatest thing that ever happened to me, because I'm not an idiot. But it's an undeniably huge part of my life . . . and I love my life. More than ever.

Writing to you has been a way to keep you in my life after you died, Dad. You've been gone for eight years, but I've always felt you with me. That's what I want to do for Lisa. I've been working on my plan, and today, I finished. Kind of fitting that it's our anniversary. Three years. I want to make today great for Lisa, make her laugh, make her feel loved to the moon and back, because I don't think we're going to make it to our fourth.

We're so, so lucky. No matter what's coming, no matter how soon.

It's easy to cry and even panic over this stuff. But then I look around and see everything I have, and all that joy . . . it pushes everything else away. It truly does. I've never been so happy in my life.

Thanks for everything, Daddy. I'll see you soon.

Jennie