Papa.

I hate obituaries.

One of my family members was probably required to write a 300 word or less essay about someone who lived 53 wonderful years. How in the heck is that supposed to do any justice? How is a name on a tombstone supposed to represent a life that touched all of our hearts? How is any of this supposed to bring closure?

I don’t believe it does. I don’t want to see my papa in a coffin for the last time, instead I want to remember him from the night before, as he put his arm around my shoulder and listened to me talk about my future and dreams, here in Guatemala, with wide open eyes and know that he is so proud. I don’t know if we ever find true closure until we are in heaven alongside Jesus, our true source of peace and the loved one that we lost.

If I could rewrite his obituary, to gain some kind of a distant closure, I would put it like this:

Thomas Miller, a man that left a legacy of laughter. Oh trust me, this man had his days. He had his crazy teenage days that resulted in the stories that can only be described as “hippie days” where he had long hair and, I wasn’t there but in the pictures, he looks like he had little to no cares and probably felt a little like Bob Marely at times, but that’s beside the point. He ended up marrying this girl named Lorie, now trust me, she was a sight for sore eyes a.k.a a babe, and Papa, as we call him, couldn’t have enough of her. He loved her so much that he dated her despite his parents disapproval (Can I get an “amen” to a true love story? Don’t worry, they ended up loving her). Papa and Grama have seen their days of bad, despair and heart ache but for sure have had their days of joy. Those days include raising three incredible people whom I now call my aunts and uncles, Angie, Cindy and Tommy or T2. They put up with all these kids crap throughout the years, cried when tears were needed and laughed when joy was present. This is where I come in, more so on the half of crying when tears are needed. My momma came home one day and had to confess to her parents that at the prime young age of 15, she was pregnant. My momma came to the choice of keeping me and raising me but the biggest wish from my grandparents was that my mother finish school. This desire meant that they were in for the long run of raising little ol’ Mexican me. My grama is the one that I spent all of my days with but, papa was my daddy. I remember him as I grew up always bringing the laughs. He was truly a dork. Thomas Miller was not just a man but, a happy man. He was probably the only person on planet earth that will play the drums to almost any beat, slow or fast. I believe he lived his life like that as well, his drum beat to whatever was thrown at him. Sometimes, yeah not to sugar coat anything, he threw crap back but at most things he took it and made his drum beat a little harder to get past the crap that life often throws at us! Like me J. No, I don’t think I am crap but at the time, I am quite positive I wasn’t a bucket of sunshine. He raised me like any good papa would. He made me laugh all the time as he would shout through the house and scream “THERES A LOBSTER ON THE LOOSE!!!” and scare the living daylights out of little two year old me, torcher me with tickles and simply dance to Hotel California in the leaky basement with me. (That was our song, don’t ask me why but when I was much younger I believed that that was his absolute favorite song, so I think when I was around he would pretend as if it were, just for me and still did that to this day). My papa was a very weird man, as my little sister and I would walk through Wal-Mart with him, he would push the cart side-to-side and laugh this hysterical, made-up hyena laugh to draw attention. He would love it as my sister would squeal in her tiny laugh as he almost tilted the cart over. He also taught me a trait that will never leave my mind, how to walk as ridiculous as you can. Sometimes, he would walk with one foot dragging as if it were dead and just love when people laughed at him. Believe me, this skill is not one that a person simply acquires and forgets. You best believe, I still use that to this day. Papa wasn’t only skilled at the drums, he also could play one of the most confusing instruments ever: The harmonica. He played that thing like it was nobody’s business and again, like the drums, would play along to any song. He also tried to play the mandolin. When he was younger, he asked my great grandma to buy him one and never really learned so on Christmas 2014, this year, he gave it to me. I hope to become the best mandolin player my papa has ever heard. In Heaven, when all is well, I will play it and papa can play the drums alongside Jesus, I’m assuming Jesus can play all instruments so I won’t choose one for him now. Another trait that my papa carried was a love for fake teeth. Yes, I know it sounds crazy but he brought the family so much laughter as he would walk around the house and try to kiss grama or try to speak in one of his many crazy voices to all of us. I will never forget the time I tried to copy him and I bought a pair from a quarter machine. I didn’t rock them as well as he did but boy, did I try. My papa was a stubborn man as well, he did not put up with any sh**. Seriously. He would voice his opinion when he thought was necessary. Yes, as you might be thinking, that was a trait that he passed to all of us. We wished for grama’s sweetness and got papa’s stubbornness. It’s a blessing and a curse. ;) But his stubbornness showed that he cared. When papa was passionate, he was passionate. I can’t say I have ever seen my papa give up. He went through rocky years in a marriage without giving up, would make the biggest bon fire every time he wanted to without giving up, and would work on cars, quads and even my baby jeep without giving up. He was a crazy man. A crazy man that was so out of this world. A crazy man that rocked this world.

There is so many more memories I could write of my papa but, I will conclude with the greatest life lesson that he, alongside the help of my wonderful grama taught me.

Papa, 

You taught me to never give up. But, not just on life but on myself. You taught me that being a weirdo is okay and that I can always be comfortable in my own skin. This is a lesson that not many girls my age were taught, as they all try to fit in with make-up and the latest clothing trend you taught me that being different is not just okay, but better. Because of you, I don’t worry that others are looking, unless I am trying to make them laugh. You taught me what a dad was supposed to be like many times. You were the one for all those years that I would give Father’s day gifts to because you taught me that. If it were not for you my papa, I would give up so easily. That stubbornness of yours has gotten me so far in my short life and I can’t thank you enough for it. Sometimes, we have to be stubborn in this hard world and you taught me that. There was a night a few years ago that changed our relationship and many conversations that followed to repair it but I can say papa, that when you would say to me “you pushed me to change my life” I wish I had said back that “you pushed me to live mine.” It is because of you that I have dreams and I will pursue them until the day that I meet you again. It is because of you that I am incredibly awkward and weird. It is because of you that when Kenzie and I hear the words “Apple Cider” we will no longer call it that but we will say in your crazy voice “WHO WANTS SOME PAPPLE CIDER?!” It is because of you that every time I hear the word “Lobster” my mind reverts back to you scaring me into laughter as a child. All of these things, through my tears, I thank Jesus for. I thank him for letting me enjoy you for this short time. I am so excited that He gets to enjoy forever. I believe that you are with him now, dancing your heart out and rejoicing with grandma and Grandpa Miller as you intercede for us as we mourn your passing. How beautiful of a scene is that.

Thank you, Papa. I love you. Thank you for being my dad.