June 17th

Happy Father's Day.

 

This day has always held a bittersweet time for me.

My Dad passed away at an early age, when I was only nine years old.

The sadder part is that before that catastrophic event,

I rarely saw him.

He worked long hours and usually came home,

long after my sister and I were in bed.

As the years go by, my memories of him begin to fade.

I don't know if I'm remembering an actual memory,

something my Mom might have reminisced about,

or a photo that seems too real.

At this age, I do have some memories left.

But they are getting so hazy.

Like: Watching him cut the grass when a small rock flew out

and cut me on my leg.

He carried me into the house.

I don't remember if I was crying,

if it hurt,

if there was blood.......

just the memory of being carried and feeling safe.

Another memory was doing a chin up on his

outstretched arm.

Laughing while he read the funny papers to my sister and I,

while he used funny voices for the characters.

He worked as a salesman for National Biscuit Company.

I remember accompanying him to the office.

I don't remember the reason,

but I remember feeling special.

I got to drink from a fountain with these little paper cone cups.

I got to ride down the conveyor belt in a box,

laughing

while he ran along side holding onto the box.......

The day he died, I remember that my aunt told me he was dead.

She obviously didn't know how break that

kind horrible news to a child.

I was stunned.

The wake and funeral didn't seem real.

Then, after he was gone, my Mom became distant.

That was also hard.

I understand her grief,

but I don't think she initially understood ours.

A small child thinks of a Father as a hero,

invincible,

but mine left.

He will forever be a hero to me.

My Father just ceased to be.

I used to have dreams that he was coming home,

but I could never see his face,

and I'd awaken crying.

My Mom would always be there to soothe the emotional pain.

I remember periodically going into his closet to smell his unique smell.

I remember praying earnestly for God to bring him back.

I remember the emptiness.

I remember finally accepting he was never coming back.

That's when my sister and I lost some of our childhood, our innocence.

We coped,

we managed,

but I often wonder,

 what would we have become if he had lived.

How would our lives have turned out if we

hadn't had to cope with his loss.

It isn't a terribly unique thing to be raised by one parent.

It happens all the time.

Turns out that my Mom was incredibly capable.

She stepped up to the plate and became the best of both parents.

My sister and I turned out fine.

So,

all in all,

I'm sure Daddy would be proud of the way we turned out.

If you're there Dad..........

Thanks,

for the short time you had with us

 and what you taught us.

We'll always love you.

 

 

**************************

Remember,

Always tell your loved ones how much you love them.

You never know how much time

they'll have with you.

💋