Saturday, June 16, 2012

Dad

Father's Day is tomorrow and in celebration of this holiday to honor out father's I am going to honor my earthly father for Father's Day.

This is not an easy blog to write, and it is not because I had a terrible Dad, it is because my Dad died before I had very many memories of him.  My Dad died in 1970 at the age of 32, and I was six years old.  The few memories I do have of him are good.

My Dad was an Iowa Highway Patrolman, so he worked funny shifts and his days off varied each week.  One day my Dad watched me while my mom was at work.  We lived in a small town in Iowa and we walked to the Sinclair gas station.  It was a nice day.  My Dad stopped in at the gas station to visit one of his buddies.  He shot the breeze with him and I just hung out with my Dad.  After he visited his friend at the gas station we went accross the street to the small Cafe' and had lunch.  I remember french fries, but not much else.  It was a good day, I just hung out with my Dad.

Another time I went to a small grocery store with my Dad.  I was trying to help him and got a bottle of ketchup for him.  As I was walking to give it to him it fell out of my hands and broke.  Back then ketchup came in glass bottles and it made a loud sound and was a large mess.  I started crying, my Dad calmed me down and told me it was ok.  The grocer promptly cleaned up the mess and all was well.

I am the youngest of three.  I have two older brothers.  When I was five I was playing outside in the spring.  It was still cold, but most of the snow had melted.  My brothers were playing outside also.  I did something to try to get them to chase me.  I started running away from them and I slipped and fell on some ice.  I screamed and was crying uncontrollably.  My Dad was in the shower at the time, but almost immediately he was at the back door with a towel wrapped around his waist wanting to know what happened.  I tried to explain through the tears, but my Dad was sure my brothers had done something to me.  Eventually the truth came out and my brothers were exonerated.  My Dad was smart enough to notice that my arm had been broken from the fall and he took me to the hospital.

I ended up having to spend the night in the hospital when my arm broke.  They had to ice my arm and put me under to set it properly.  I had broken both bones.  I remember waking up from the surgery and my Dad carried me out of the recovery room back to my hospital bed.

My Dad would often take his 'breaks' when he had his swing shift so that he could stop by the house and see us all before we went to bed.  He would always get a quick glass of iced tea (Nestea instant).  He did not stay long, but it was always nice to see him

He loved my mom very much and she loved him too.  My mom is in her 70's now and she is concerned about dying; not because she is afraid to die, she is concerned she is going to get to heaven as an old lady and she will see my Dad all young and handsome.  It is almost like she is nervous about a date with someone she loves and she wants to look her best to see him.

It does stink that I lost my Dad at such a young age.  I will never know why he died so young, I guess  sometimes life just does not make sense. When I was 32 years old I cried uncontrolably on Father's Day. I could not figure out what was wrong with me. My husband told me I should go see my mom, maybe she could help me. I did not go see my mom or my Aunt Judy, I ended up at my Grandma's house. When I walked in her door I just cried, I did not tell her why I was crying, I just sat down and cried. She looked at me and said "Cindy, your Dad would have never left you if he had any choice." It was what I needed to hear.  I am so very thankful for the few memories I do have of him.  He was a good man who loved me and my family.  He took time to hang out with me and take me out to lunch, he made me feel better when I broke ketchup bottles,  he tried to protect me from my brothers, he made sure that I was safe after surgery and he made it a priority to see his family every day, even when he worked an odd shift.  My Dad left me at a young age, not of his own choice, but of his own choice he lived his life intentionally and left me with memories of a loving father.  Thanks Dad!  I will see you again (hopefully not too soon)!  Love you!

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