Hi Dad,

I have been thinking awhile of what I would write to you on Father’s Day, what I want to tell you, as well as what you need to hear.  For Father’s Day, a day that you have never embraced since the loss of your father so long ago, God has finally let me write you this letter. Of course, it is your fingers doing the typing – but by all means, these are my words and thoughts – to you.

First of all, I know you miss me terribly, and I know you will never get over that pain. I miss you and Mommy and Nicole just as much. Just because we are separated, and I am here far away, I still miss being with my family – the family that I loved so much. But please take solace that one day, we will all be together again, I know that. Hopefully not for a long, long time, but it will happen. That is the faith that you must have, that is what is going to keep you going. It will help you get out of bed every morning, and let you lie your head down on the pillow in peace at night. It will let you love Nicole and show her the great loving life she deserves, and enable  you to travel and vacation and see places around the world that you want to see.

As for where we will see each other again – that is a harder question. I know you have been told by some that I am in a “better” place – that is not entirely wrong, but it is not right either. I am in a “different” place. There is no real “better” place for me to be than by your side, with my family. But that said, I am at peace here. I have no stress, no anxiety, no pain. I feel that I am with many other people who came before me in our family, some I knew, some I have just met for the first time. The place I am in can’t really be described – it justs exists.

The peace they talk about is just that – peace. I do not have the joy of skating with my team, or snowboarding down a white snowy surface of a Colorado mountain. I can not watch Nicole play hockey and cheer her on with the pride only an older brother can appreciate when his sister follows in his footsteps – even if those footsteps are empty now. I yearn to complete my life on earth, and not have had it taken from me.

I was sad, very sad, when you sold my car.  That was my happy place, my comfort zone, and I loved that car. I know you had to sell it, it was the right thing to do, but it still hurt. I am happy thought that it is now with someone who appreciates it as much as I did, and who is caring for it and loves to drive it as much as I did – but it is not me – it should be me. Peace does not replace that.

So on this day when I should be taking care of you, cooking you dinner, and thanking you for being the best father in the world, please know that I am at least thinking about you. Thinking about the great life you and mom gave me and appreciating the time we did have together.

Now please, smile a little more, hug Nicole a little tighter, and enjoy Father’s Day the best you can.

Your Loving son,


Written by Perry Grosser, father of Andrew


Perry Grosser

I have never written before - I had no reason to. But now it is all I want to do. I find peace and comfort in putting my thoughts and feeling into words. There are so many feelings that grief brings you, and they are were all stuck in my head for months, until I started to take them out of my head and put them into written words. I am able to tell a story, share an emotion, share a feeling, express my frustration – anything I need to or want to do. But most of all it helps me to keep moving one foot in front of the other and keep moving from one day to the other. More important though, I know my site is helping others do the same. I get daily emails and phone calls from people who are reading what I write. I receive comments from both friends, and those who I have never met. They tell me how I am able to put into words what they have stuck in their heads. How they can relate to what I am writing and how my entries help them to keep moving and to keep healing. That is what keeps me going on. I write with my son in mind all the time – although not every entry is about him, he is the motivation that keeps me writing. Sometimes I write about grief. Sometimes I write about how we see others, or how they react to “us”. Some entries are shorter, while others seem to never find an end. But every one ends with thinking of how my son would read what I wrote, and if he was old enough and mature enough to truly appreciate it. Will I write for another year, or two years, or for the rest of my life? Who knows. But for now, I have a lot to say, I have so much to cover, and so much more to heal – and hopefully help others in the process.

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