Happy Belated Father’s Day~~~

 

 

 

I hope everyone enjoyed a Happy Father’s Day yesterday and took time out from their busy lives to fully embrace the value of “family.” Not every father is a biological father. There are many who take on the responsibilities of being a “Dad” to others in an effort to guide and support them along life’s highways. It does not matter “who” you are… it only matters that you cared. To fathers everywhere… Thank you for caring!

 

My father was one of the most influential people in my life. I have made several references about him throughout my entries on OD. He was a quiet man, devoted to his wife and family, strong in character, and grounded in his faith. His word was his medal of honor, for if he extended his hand to you or gave you his word, you could be sure of one thing~ that he would follow through on his commitments above and beyond measure.

 

He was a hard worker, sometimes working two jobs to make ends meet and to allow my mother to stay home to raise my brother and me.  By trade, he was a machinist, but his inherent ability was carpentry. He loved to design and build things. Over the years, he built two homes for my grandparents, as well as two homes and a summer cabin for our family. When our barn, next to our 200-year old farmhouse in

Maine , was destroyed by a heavy snowstorm, he rebuilt it as a modern-day kitchen complete with designs that were ahead of the times, envisioned and constructed as labors of love. He reached beyond the current day blueprints, as he fashioned cabinets with Lazy Susan-style shelves for easier accessibility for my mother who suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. He crafted each board as if it were a work of art. I remember well spending hours and hours in the basement where he did much of his work. I can still see him, bending over, his brow wrinkled in concentration, and sawdust underfoot as he planed and sanded each edge to perfection smooth as glass… He called me his “little helper,” but I’m sure that I caused many a delay in his work schedule. Yet, he never complained. Sadly, my mother’s health deteriorated to such an extent that she never got to cook in the new kitchen. My dad put the home that he lovingly remodeled up for sale right after he finished the kitchen, and we moved to

Arizona where the drier climate had a positive effect on my mother’s condition.

 

I think one of the things that I remember most about my dad is his patience. I say patience because I was the type of young girl who liked to “talk” about everything. For some reason, the simplest things would set me off and I literally would talk sometimes for hours on end. My mind was like a sponge and the more I saw, read, and experienced, the more inquisitive I became. My mother often grew tired of my endless questions and my limitless outbursts of imagination, as I am sure many people did with very good reason. *smile* But my dad would listen patiently, reply to my questions, and willingly encourage me to delve deeper into the realms of my make-believe world. I am *smiling* as I write this because I see similar traits in my little granddaughter as she takes my hand and invites me into “her” world ~ a world of wonder and fascination, discovery, and anticipation. Like my father, I go willingly, of course.

 

My father passed away at 47 years old the night of my high school graduation. He died just minutes after I received my diploma. My mother lived for many years following my father’s death. He was her childhood sweetheart, so she struggled to find her way again, making some unwise choices along the way. I think her loneliness clouded her judgment. I always felt that through it all, my dad watched over her and protected her. After her death, among her things I found my dad’s letters to her~ passionate, poetic, and loving. She had kept them all. My mother often traveled throughout their married years, so his letters were filled with news about my brother and me as well. My father was a simple, uncomplicated man, whose heart encompassed all that was good and loving, kind, compassionate, and understanding. He was a loving husband, a devoted father, and a loyal friend. There are no words that I can say to express how thankful I am to have had him as my dad. He lives forever in my memories and in my heart. I can still hear his voice…

 

I love you, Dad. Thank you for caring!

 

 

 

“Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence

 

 

My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then

 

 

Spin me around ’til I fell asleep

 

 

Then up the stairs he would carry me

 

 

And I knew for sure I was loved

 

 

If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him

 

 

<p class="MsoNormal" style=”MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: center” align=”center”>I’d play a song that would never, ever end

 

 

How I’d love, love, love

 

 

To dance with my father again…”

 

 

(Lyrics by Luther Vandross)