Dad

(Father's Day. The day that means something different to almost everyone, but I can't speak for others, just for myself. The following touches briefly on the life of a man who left a profound impression on me, and boy am I thankful for that.)



Gosh, I miss dad.

Granted he wasn’t my biological father; he was my husband’s dad and he was one in a million.

I first met Cody (a name I never called him – he was simply “dad”) when he and his family moved into a new home behind mine. I lived in the old rental house behind his with my ill mother and younger sister. Since I was the oldest, I did most of the chores and that included mowing the huge lawn every summer.

My future father-in-law and I met up one summer afternoon beneath the apple trees that grew along our property lines. He had twinkling blue eyes and I found out later that he thought my blue eyes were just beautiful.

Eventually I met his oldest son, we dated for three months and as of this moment, hubby and I have been married 36 ½ years.

Shortly after that meeting by the apple trees, I began watching more closely what was going on behind our home. This beautiful new house was coming together, and there were lots of men and a few women working around the place. My mother showed little interest in the new neighbors until after the home was built, moved into and the young kids made too much noise with their garage band. That’s when she did the neighborly thing – she called the police. I was mortified.

After some months passed and hubby won over my mom, I left home a married woman with a life of my own. My little sister, then 15, had to take over as caregiver.

I grew to love hubby’s family, but I had a special relationship with dad. My own father had walked away from his wife and baby when I was three weeks old. I only saw him once after that, for a couple of hours, so we never knew one another.

Maybe that’s why dad meant so much to me, but I know that’s not the only reason – not by a long shot. Dad taught me to be true to what my heart was telling me. I graduated from high school and even attended our junior college, so the head knowledge was there and I often tried to make things make sense before I came to a decision. Dad led with his gut, and I admired that. I also learned from it and more often than not, it’s how I live my life.

Dad’s last job was as a plumber-pipefitter, but he held lots of jobs throughout his life. This last one, though, paid enough for him to build his wife a home (mostly with his own hands) that she would have for the rest of her life. He wanted her to be able to live there as long as she wanted, even if he went on to Heaven first. Dad made sure the house was paid off, and it stayed that way – for a while.

Throughout the years, all four of dad’s sons married and had children. Grandkids visited often, gravitating toward their grandpa and strong relationships were formed. Dad was genuine, the Real Thing and they knew it.

Faith in God was a big deal for dad. He and I had lots of conversations about God, doing the right thing, speaking the truth and standing up for oneself. He gave me the gift of self-esteem, but he gave me so much more: respect as a person of worth. Dad loved me for who I was and that is a rare and wonderful thing.

In early 2001, dad became ill and later developed shingles. That developed into post-herpetic neuralgia and the father that I loved fought the pain for as long as he could. He passed away in March of 2004, and the family he held together for decades has drifted away from one another.

Still, one thread will always connect brother to brother, mother to sons, and grandchild to grandchild. Dad was a part of all of our lives and every single one of us can say the same thing and mean it with every fiber of our being:

Gosh, we miss you Dad.