Dear Dad,

Has it really been 3 months? It seems like it was an eternity ago that we huddled around your hospital bed, stricken with grief, shocked and heart broken. And yet, in some ways, it feels like it was only yesterday.

I still think about you every single day. I miss you terribly and it's always a struggle to hold back the tears that so easily surface when I talk about you. I'm sure you're not surprised. I've always been such a baby. I know it sounds silly but sometimes I call home when I know nobody's there just to hear your voice on the answering machine.

But can you really be gone? How are you not home right this very minute, snuggled up on the couch, mom's head in your lap, (holding her arm straight up in the air, as she always does -a funny little quirk of hers) and you, playing with her hair? How many nights have I returned home at curfew, only to walk in to that scene?

I miss our weekends in the good ol' days. Waking up every Saturday morning to your music blaring from the boom box and the smell of whhhole whhheat whhhaffles and homemade syrup wafting through the house. (When we were little they were animal pancakes and I thought your artistic abilities were amazing!)

I miss our 11:30 PM shopping trips to Maceys every Saturday night. Thanks for buying my mascara and gum.

I miss you in your BYU hat, shouting and cheering so loudly at the TV that it'd scare the grandkids. Ü

I miss burritos immediately following church. (No time to change clothes or put scriptures away!) I've tried making your super spicy, one-of-a-kind original hot sauce many times, but I can never seem to get it just right.

I miss ironing your shirts. (You were always so good about thanking me for stuff like that.) There were a lot of blue ones, which I liked, because I always thought you looked handsome in blue.

I miss cutting your hair. And even though it turned out the same every time, you were always overly (yet sincerely) complimentary about the end result.

I miss hearing you mutter, "Dog gone it" in times of frustration.

I miss trying to relax and be brave as you'd pop all my toes. Gotta love that hook pinky toe of mine. I got it from you.

I miss hearing your cheerful whistle as you move throughout the house.

I miss sitting around the breakfast table as you call a moment of silence for your last bite of pancake and egg. 8 children eagerly watching as you chew slowly, eyes closed, savoring each moment and finishing off with a glass of milk from your giant, green plastic cup, only to break the silence with a long and satisfied, "Ahhhhhhh". Truly a "Golden Day".

I miss hearing you click your tongue at my babies to make them smile and analyzing their features to see whose eyes they have or whose nose they ended up with.

I miss the ever pressing creamy VS crunchy peanut butter conflict in the Kocherhans home. Honestly, who in their right mind prefers crunchy?!

I miss laughing at you for sticking tissue up both nostrils during allergy season. You had a nose blow that could outdo a fog horn. A truly impressive decibel indeed.

I miss your warm (crooked-ish) smile and your friendly blue eyes.

I miss your laugh. I remember one day on a drive up to Bountiful, Haley and I stuck our tongues out the window until they got dried out. We then took turns licking your elbow (because you always had your arm resting across the back of the seat in the 'Burb) until you noticed. Thank you for not getting angry with us.

I am so sad to think that we won't be able to find you in the choir during conference this weekend. We'd all try and be the 1st one to spot you on TV (Where's Waldo style) and would get really excited for your closeups. I'm sure you're singing in the choirs of heaven right now though. Can't wait to hear it!

I'm sorry I stopped singing. I'm working on that. I sang in the family musical number at your funeral (even though I was way out of my element and a blubbering mess) just to show you. Maybe when we meet again, I'll be able to stand next to you and share your sheet music.

I played my guitar today. Thank you for "helping" Andy buy it for me for my birthday. I wish I hadn't waited so many years to pick it up. I guess I just took for granted that you would always be here to give me those lessons

I love you dad. I miss you so much it hurts. But I know you're not gone. I know that you're still watching out for me, supporting and encouraging me through it all, just like you always have. Now you're just doing it from the other side. Thank you for giving me life. Thank you for teaching me. Thank you for helping me be a better person. Thank you for being such a great example. Thank you for loving me.

Much love (always and forever),

Your Becca