A year ago my beloved father died. To say I miss him is a given, the hole in my spirit hasn’t healed. One would think that I’d have experience in losing a parent as Mother died over 28 years ago. Not so. Daddy and I were so close even though apart in miles.
I was – and will be forever – his little girl. The one who followed him around no matter what he was doing. Like under the car, asking him to move so I could see. If he took his shirt off, so did I. The one who made him store his toolbox in the trunk of his car so I couldn’t dismantle Mother’s iron, the clock, or any other small appliances. I do remember taking most of the screws out of the stove before he stopped me. Wonder if he secretly laughed? Or was proud that I was trying to ‘fix’ things just like he did?
From reading my mother’s diaries, I know he had to get me out of her hair, and thus we shared Wednesday afternoons. First at the amusement park on the corner of Barton Springs Road and South Lamar where it was nickel night. I’m sure I tried to free the ponies and ride off like Rowdy Yates. Afterwards we would get a frozen custard from Sandy’s on Barton Springs. Sometimes on Saturdays, he’d take me to the airport where we’d stand on the observation deck and watch the planes land and take off. He’d fuel my fascination with flight by explaining things in terms a ten year old could understand.
As the horrible preteen problems—nobody likes me, I’m ugly, I’m fat—struck me, Daddy bought a small boat and our Wednesdays turned into hours on Lake Austin. After my brother-in-law, who is the best brother ever! taught me to water ski, Daddy would come home early from work to take me skiing until dusk. How tired he must have been and how many times did he really NOT want to go? But he did. I don’t think he realized what a powerful example he gave me to parent my own children.
Then my life changed and I’m sure I broke his heart. Boys, marriage, moving away from Austin. As the years went by, he was so patient with me, never voicing his opinion unless asked. The good Lord knows he saw the mistakes long before I made them. And when I did, he was there to pick me back up, or lend a hand. He’d drop whatever he was doing to come to wherever I was.
Watching him grow frailer was so damn hard. He’d never admit to being weaker, especially to himself as he lived each day to the fullest. Now it was my time to give back to him. To fix things around his house as he had in all the ones I’d lived in, to do before he did and keep him off ladders or the roof! Now it was my time to be there for him. For years, my sister had overseen his medical care, been there at a moment’s notice, rushed him to the ER. Now I wanted to share taking care of him. Don and I had already decided that I’d move to Austin. Something Daddy would have hated—he didn’t like scenes or to be fussed over—while I’d have loved spending that precious time with him.
Daddy lived, and died, on his own terms. He was tired, his body slowly failing. Through his strong faith in Jesus Christ, he knew eternal life was waiting. As was the love of his life. Daddy didn’t leave this world alone even though his family wasn’t by his side. I’m positive Mother came with a drink in her hand, “Jerry, what took you so long? Let’s go. I’ve got the party started.”
Thank you, Daddy, for being the very best father, best friend, best role model a child could ever have. But I still miss you terribly. BTW: Thanks for sending the two doves who sat outside the kitchen window cooing at me on Wednesday.
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