Letter To My Dad

My Dearest Daddy:

Surprisingly enough, I find myself more and more at a loss for words these last couple of weeks.  Perhaps because we didn't need many lately, you and I; but most likely because I just don't have them....you see, there aren't any empty enough, grateful enough, scared enough or strangely, glorious enough, to describe how your journey has left me feeling.  I know it's hard for you to imagine me being speechless and all...but, alas, I am.  My inability to verbalize what your life and death have given to me has led me to do something I almost never do:  make a list.  I will never, ever be able to encompass everything, but these are the things that will never fade, even a tad, from my memory.  These are the things I think about now and will remember until the day I see your sweet face again.  It's these simple things that made you "you" and helped make me "me".....

1.    Your hands:  I will always remember the shape and strength of your hands; the hard work that they were part of for so many years.  It was those very hands that put food on my table, clothes on my back, gas in my car and gifts under our tree.  It was those hands that would gladly take the last dollar from your pocket to give to me....those precious, generous hands.  It was those same, calloused hands that I held for the last seven days, smaller than my own in the end; callouses erased by the Lord that you love so dearly.  That set of hands are equally as clear and special to me.

2.    Your smile:  Oh, how we all love that crooked smile!  For the rest of my life, I will close my eyes and see that silly grin....like when you would lick your finger and stick it in your 40 year old daughter's ear, as if I were still seven, when you would pose for a picture and we would have to take thirteen of them because that's how long it took you to straighten up....Mom would get mad and you would just smile that crooked grin, or when you bought you and Kaley those ridiculous matching Elmer Fudd hats.  You wore yours proudly with your sideways smile.  Your were priceless.

3.    Your tears:  You are proof that real men do cry.  I am so blessed to be raised by a man that never, ever let his pride interfere with his wife or his kids.  You understood the value of your family and you were proud to show your love for us.  Again, I will always be able to close my eyes and picture your bottom lip trembling when Kaley came up to bat or when you opened a Christmas gift; I can see those tears streaming down your face when you walked into a family reunion or when you gave Mom an anniversary card.  I would never be able to thank you enough for allowing me to see your tears.  This legacy of honesty you left for your children and grandchildren is golden and I am a better person for it.

4.    Your work ethic:  You are the kind of man that, quite frankly, my generation produced very little of.  I can speak truly when I say that you never, ever had a lazy bone in your body.  I think of the hours of your life that you spent working HARD to make sure that we were all provided for and pray that God provides me someone like you.  You were always so tired and begged for naps...and I would say, "Daddy, you can nap another time.  When you're on your deathbed, you won't be wishing for more sleep!"  How right I was!  On your deathbed, your brain ravaged by that cancer, you were wondering when we were all supposed to work.  You wanted to make sure that all the necessary duties were fulfilled.  Right to the end, you worked hard and diligently.  You make me so very proud.

5.    The little things:  the way you slurped your coffee in the mornings (I can't believe I'm going to miss that!), the way you shuffled when you walked; I don't know what I'm going to do when I call and you're not there to say, "Hey Sugar".  I am going to miss like crazy your one Christmas present that you insisted on wrapping yourself and it looked HORRIBLE and there will never be anyone again that will always, always be on my side. 

While the words to describe your earthly death are sparse, the list of things I love is never-ending and I must conclude.  I will do my best to put it all down as it comes because I know that would make you proud....but I am exhausted right now.  We worked hard, Dad, to get you through the last part of your journey and I pray that we did right by you.  I saw you through until I was allowed to no more.  You know that, of course.  Now it's your turn again.  You will do it like you always have......and I know that, of course.