"You said once that funerals should be a celebration of someone's life. After all, a funeral is just one day, and you had almost 97 years of life.

I don't think you realized how impressive you were, and I don't really know how to condense decades of memories, your quirks, and characteristics, or the things that really defined you in a short letter, but I hope you know that we saw you and noticed all these things that made you who you are.

I'm grateful for the years with you. I'm not sure you ever realized, but you gave us so much, and you gave me much more than you'll ever know.

When I was younger, I didn't really know why you wanted to be busy all the time, but I understand now that maybe you just wanted to use up all your time here in a productive way. You loved your projects, and you especially loved fixing things that were broken. When you still had the strength it was houses, and whatever else you could find and bring back home to work on - dishwashers, laundry machines, furniture on the side of the road. Pretty much anything that would make mom really mad.

And when your legs started to get weak, you started to take smaller walks. We went to the park near Grace's one day and gathered pinecones, and you said they would make a good art project, like a wreath for Christmas. It made me really happy to be there picking pinecones off the grass with you.

There is a lot more I can say, a lot more stories - maybe you weren't always there when we wanted you to be but you were always there when we needed. Like the time in college my car stalled on the side of the road near Virginia Beach and you drove 3 hours just to make sure I got home safe.

Or all the times you took us to places like Chuck E. Cheese and waited for us for hours while we played in the sky maze, and always had pizza waiting. Or when you took us to theme parks and since Grace was younger you would go on the children's rides with her so she wouldn't be alone.

Or the time after my choir recital all the other girls were getting roses and I think you noticed so after you dropped me off at home you went to the store and brought back a bouquet of carnations with glitter on them. You said they were more special, and that meant a lot to me and I still think about those flowers, Dad.

I remember your antics too, some I won't discuss here, but you know what they were - and the time at Elijah's high school graduation when you faked an illness and said you had to go to the hospital so you missed the ceremony but conveniently felt better just in time for Chinese food afterwards.

Or how I knew you were feeling like yourself cause you would have that twinkle in your eye, especially right before making one of your inappropriate jokes.

You once said you wished we could have more family dinners together at the table, I wish we could have given you that, but I also know that you said Tack Lane was full of love, so that makes me happy.

You were smart, driven, creative, resourceful, mischievous, funny, frustrating, and generous. You loved baked potatoes, pizza, aliens, meeting new people, being with family, labels and organization, science, apple juice, continental breakfasts, practicality, Chinese food, conspiracy theories, and you hated cauliflower, water and your iPhone.

I hope you know that you were loved. And how much I love you.

I don't think you've really left us because I think of you and hear your voice often, like when I get frustrated with doing something and I hear you say "if you want something done right you have to do it yourself" and I carry on, or when I feel scared to take a risk and I remember all the times you said yes to trying something new.

I saved your voicemails too, so I can hear your voice whenever I want. I always thought it was funny when I would pick up the phone and you would say "Hey Sarah, it's Dad" like I didn't already know your voice.

If you were here right now, you'd probably find this whole thing boring and be off somewhere sleeping. And maybe in an alternative timeline, you would be coming home from the post office or bank, and you would would call and ask us what we wanted from Mrs. Chens and that you already got the bean curd and fried rice, and later we would come home and we would sit down with you at the table.

I'm so happy I got to be a part of your life. I wish I could hug you again just one more time, but for now I'll say: I miss you Dad and see you again soon."

-Sarah