I didn’t know this would be our last Father’s Day together. Ironically, we spent it together at Scott and White Hospital in Temple, TX, the same hospital I just spent a month staying in.
Words like covid, shutdown, and pandemic were still uncomfortable on the lips. All I could say with certainty was that hospitala now had very strict rules about visiting. And, IF you were allowed to visit someone, they could only have one visitor for the entire day.
I wish I could say I was thinking of anyone else that day, but it would be a bold face lie. I couldn’t think of anyone else but him. MY father, my hero. Oh, and myself, because I missed him so much that I made sure I called dibs on spending Father’s Day with my dad.
I’m not sure if anyone else asked for the honor of being his sole visitor that day, but I do know a freight train would’ve had to run me over to keep me away.
Four years down the road, I have put a lot of things into perspective. First, my father was not a perfect man. But he was perfect for me. He made tons of mistakes, but he owned them. He apologized when it was needed, and he made clear that he understood the things he would have to answer for in Heaven.
Second, my father made the world a better place. He was a public servant by trade. And no, he wasn’t a cop. He was a fireman, both professionally and as Captain of the Salado Volunteer Fire Department. As he told it, he was way better than a cop because they both get called for emergencies, but everyone is happy when the firetrucks roll up. Cops aren’t given the same amount of fanfare. And it’s probably because they pull you over for speeding. My dad told that to every cop that ever pulled him over! I wish I had a video montage of their expressions! Sometimes it got him a warning, and sometimes, it left him in pretty hot water.
On a more serious note, it seems like everywhere I go in central Texas, people know my father. I get to hear incredible stories about the lives he saved, the help he gave, and the compassion he showed people. That’s an inexplicable feeling of pride I can’t even explain.
Even the medic who came on a helicopter to Tucker’s motorcycle accident knew and respected my dad.
Third, he overcame tremendous odds, and broke the cycles of dysfunction during his life. I know very little about his childhood, and even less about his family, but he did everything he could to do better, be better and give me better throughout my life.
I often thank my stepmom for giving him a family, a home base, and all the love and support he needed to accomplish those changes. She was definitely meant to be his partner in life. Still, no one can change someone else. My dad had to do the work himself, and he did.
Last of all, but most importantly, my father built a relationship with God. I didn’t see him attending church often until my adult years, but I did see him grow into a man of blind faith, As such, his mustard seed morphed into an unmovable mountain.
That last one gives me the greatest comfort. That’s how I know our story isn’t over. We’re not at the final chapter. We’re not even on pause. He’s just as much a part of my world today as he was four years ago. The only different thing is that we don’t have to buy him a ticket for the movies. He comes along free of charge.
I wish Heaven gave out day passes, maybe a little time out for good behavior. How amazing would it be if my dad could show up for Father’s day dinner? Give me another one of his big bear hugs? Hold my stepmom’s hand and throw Ryder a treat? Most importantly, he would be counting Parker’s ten little fingers and ten little toes right before pronouncing his great-grandson absolutely perfect. He’d be choked up by that little baby’s name. And he’d be sure I used his mother’s recipe for banana pudding.
He may not be able to pass the gravy, but I know he will be at the table when dinner is served. And it all started with a boy and a girl that met many years ago, and fell in love. They made a cute little princess who adored him every day for the rest of his life, and will hold him close every day for the rest of hers!
I often think of the day I told him I wasn’t ready for him to go. And the hug he gave me when I said those words. My father was never afraid of dying. But I was always afraid of living after he was dead. I guess we’re all forced to face our fears eventually. My only comfort comes in knowing he knew exactly what I felt. But I’ll say it one more time, for old times’ sakes…
I love you Dad! You’ve always been my hero.
#daddysgirlforever
Life With Blondie 