Why I loved to hike with Dad

My last post said "First" - and then I never wrote a "Second" - HA! I knew that when I hit "publish", but I didn't want it to become too long and have my point get lost in pages and pages of words :)

So here's more thoughts "as I look back at the past year, and Dad's death, and Dad's life, and all that..."

As I've mentioned, Dad's mental illness struggles sometimes caused tension in our family and in our relationship. When he was feeling low, it manifested in anger or withdrawing or overreaction or, most often, what I would describe as "being poopy" about activities and such.

But when we were on the trail, there was almost none of that weirdness.

I'm not saying that Dad wasn't weird - because he was very weird! But our strong personalities didn't clash on the trail. He didn't fixate on things. He seemed free and happy and actually enjoying it all when we were hiking - or biking.

When I look back at photos, the most genuine smiles I see are in our hiking photos. He loved the outdoors, and when I could convince him to go out with me, he almost always had a great time... WE had a good time.

And it was kind of "our thing" - even though others sometimes joined us, we often headed out to the woods by ourselves. It felt like a special thing for us 💓

When visiting a new spot or a new trail, I frequently commented on how much Dad would like it and how I needed to bring him back soon. My heart breaks that I will never be able to do that.

There are a million things I miss about my dad, but our adventures are definitely at the top of the list. I think about him every time I'm out, wishing he was with me - and often feeling that he IS with me. I will always treasure those memories. 

Obviously, I don't know what the after life looks like, but I imagine Dad out hiking, and I dream of someday hiking with him again.
💕