It's Dad's birthday. He would be turning 79 today. I wish I could sit and eat with him, chocolate cake smeared with peanut butter, topped with chocolate ice cream.
We didn't lose all of my dad on that December day in 2014, when his body finally gave up the fight. We lost pieces of him, bit by bit, over about 7 years. He didn't want to stay forever in the body & mind that was left. While actually saying Good-bye is unfathomably hard, there was something okay about him finally being freed from the body that trapped him. Yes, his death was hard, but the grief of loss started long before his death.
I'm not sure who made up the thing about "time heals." For me, the more that time passes since his death, the more I remember the Dad of his younger days. And I grieve the current loss of his presence in our lives.
He was the man who couldn't speak above a whisper but could yell at the pigs.
That's one of the few scenarios I remember when he was able to force enough air through his vocal cords to produce sound. I also remember a few times the preachers may have been on the receiving end of the vocal emissions, when Dad was defending what he believed with his whole heart to be true, most likely in defense of some young man who was struggling or in resistance to being asked to paint over a very modest two-shades of gray van used for our business. He gave in, and had it painted an acceptably solid red, because if he was going to paint it, it was going to be his favorite color. And that was that.
I think about Dad sometimes when I'm dry heaving over the toilet. I first remember that sound from when Dad would come home from school board meetings. I guess they were that bad, although I never really knew why.
I just know my dad really cared deeply about a lot of principles, and sometimes those beliefs put him in direct conflict with The Powers That Be.
My dad had a crooked, crippled body, but was known for planting "the straightest rows in Oklahoma." He was also a straight thinker, most of the time.
He preferred landscape where you could see for miles "without a tree in sight to mar the view."
He had some fairly strong food preferences, but he always ate graciously. Our family just knew not to look at each other when he thanked the cook (which he always did) because sometimes he would say, "It was very tasty." He wasn't saying he LIKED the taste! 😆
At market, he was known as "the pie man." Some people would come to buy his pies. Others would come to be encouraged by his big smile (in spite of his pain), or to pour out their hearts to his listening ears.
One of Dad's things was to get half dollars from the bank to use as market change. That's a little way I am able to honor his memory; we also give out half dollars as market change.
He gave candy to kids to help them stop staring and accept him as a person. He started asking them to sing for their candy. For awhile, after obtaining a huge supply of marbles from I'm not sure where, he handed out marbles instead of candy. After being out of church for awhile after one of his surgeries, to welcome him back they had everyone in church who ever sang for candy get up and sing Jesus Loves Me (by far the most popular choice of his little singers), then file past and get candy. I think more than half the church got up to sing.
When one of the church leader's son died as a young man from drowning, Dad sobbed and sobbed, wishing it could have been him instead.
Dad was my biggest cheerleader. He was bursting at the buttons proud that I got my pilot's license, even though I never ended up using it for much. It was like I was able to fulfill one of his dreams that he couldn't do himself. He told every random person who would listen; I think he enjoyed the shock factor people displayed, as they tried to picture an "Amish Mennonite" girl flying a plane IN A DRESS!
I wish my boys could know the dad I love.
He would love Dexter's mind, and delight in the way he thinks. They could play chess. He could teach him all of his math tricks that I could never understand, but I'm pretty sure Dexter would. Dexter could show him all the plans he draws up, and my Dad would show him how to improve them. They could do Snap Circuits together. He would cheer from the sidelines as Dexter breaks through with his musical milestones. They could discuss Laura Ingalls Wilder 'til Kingdom come.
He would love Tyrell's creativity, and his patience with details in his art. They could sit quietly together and just enjoy the serenity. They could watch birds together. They could process the things they feel that are too big for words, like the loss of a pet, or having to share parents with needy siblings. Dad's heart would swell when he hears Tyrell describe in his own little way how much he loves God. And he would laugh when he fires up his jet engines to go rocketing down the hall.
Kendrick would make him laugh, as he tries to keep up with his brothers, tries to keep up with the latest technology, says words too big for his age, and sports his new sunglasses. Together, they could insist on DOING THINGS THEMSELVES. They could celebrate the victories with enthusiastic fist bumps.
I hope my life brings honor to my Dad. He sure fought for his kids, and wanted what was best for us. I try to help our boys "remember" him, even though they never knew him.
I miss you, Dad! Thanks for all you taught me, in words, but especially through the life you lived.
