I have been writing in a journal that a friend gave me when my Dad died. Trying to preserve all of my good memories that I have.I knew growing up that I came from a special family. My parents were very involved in all of our activities, and I was always fond of Dad's sense of humor. Over the past several weeks, I have been remembering the various traits about Dad that made him who he was, and I never want to forget them. Hopefully one day, Griffin and Hayden can read this and tuck it away in their hearts. Here's my latest entry.I remember many things about you, Dad. Now that you're gone, the details are so vivid.How you would sing "Daddy's Little Girl" to me with one hand on the wheel, and the other around me as I sat on the "hump" between the two front seats of our wood-paneled station wagon. I can still hear your voice resonate against my ear.How you stayed up several nights helping me make a lamp for my school project. Of course, you did most of the work. I sat and watched, in awe.How every activity I had, I could look up in the bleachers and see you and Mom. You didn't miss anything. Same for your grandkids, as you sat with Mom under an umbrella in the rain to watch Griffin play baseball.How you sometimes would laugh so hard, you cried. When something was really funny, you took your glasses off to wipe the tears from your eyes. I loved seeing you that happy.How last year, we were in downtown Indy, and you stopped in at Starbucks to get some coffee. You bought two, and tried to recreate the drink I often order. It wasn't exactly the same, but I loved that you thought of me.How you and Mom gave me a watch for my Sweet 16, and you wrote a clever poem inside my card. It stated that the watch was to remember my new curfew.How you would tease me for always stealing a pair of socks out of your dresser growing up. (By the way, I grabbed a pair after the funeral to remember you.)How you moved each of us daughters to college, then came home and sat in our bedrooms. Mom told us that it was especially hard on you, knowing we were growing up.How you were so proud of the cornhole boards you made for each of your son-in-laws. And how you happily made more for our friends when they asked where we got them.How every winter you would wear your black leather coat and gloves, with a cute "robber hat," as I would call it. I always thought you were so handsome.How you couldn't wait for Griffin to arrive. I called your cell from the hospital parking lot to tell you I was in labor, but no need to come yet. You told me to look to my left, and there you were, with Mom, sitting in your car.How you came back to see me during the long night of that delivery. I had been hurting, and I could see in your eyes that you were worried about me. I saw the same worry years later, as you paced the halls for Kristen, wondering why the nurse hadn't given you an update.How you saved my homemade duster I created for you as a young child. It was made from a piece of wood and shag carpet, and I found it on your workbench the week after you died. It must be 30 years old, but the yarn that spells "I love you Daddy" is still there.How you would get up on Saturday mornings to buy doughnuts at the little General store down the street, returning home with tiger-tails of chocolate and yeast twisted together. I think of you when I see them in bakeries today.How you would stare guys down who glanced at your teenaged daughters, and embarrass us when you asked them, "What are you looking at?"How you would stick your tongue out at your grandchildren, knowing they would tell Mom that "Papaw needs to sit in time alone." You would laugh and do it all over again.How you ordered me a book on the internet that you thought I should read to learn more about Griffin's health problems. The next day, you called to say it was a good read. Turns out, you had ordered two, one for me and one for you.How I always knew you were sentimental, but realized it even more when I grabbed that pair of socks from your dresser a few weeks ago. Under the socks, I discovered a picture of your late parents, my grandparents, in a frame. It was tucked away for safe keeping, just as I do with my memories of a father who always put his children first.I love you, Dad.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Thoughts on Paper
I have been writing in a journal that a friend gave me when my Dad died. Trying to preserve all of my good memories that I have.I knew growing up that I came from a special family. My parents were very involved in all of our activities, and I was always fond of Dad's sense of humor. Over the past several weeks, I have been remembering the various traits about Dad that made him who he was, and I never want to forget them. Hopefully one day, Griffin and Hayden can read this and tuck it away in their hearts. Here's my latest entry.I remember many things about you, Dad. Now that you're gone, the details are so vivid.How you would sing "Daddy's Little Girl" to me with one hand on the wheel, and the other around me as I sat on the "hump" between the two front seats of our wood-paneled station wagon. I can still hear your voice resonate against my ear.How you stayed up several nights helping me make a lamp for my school project. Of course, you did most of the work. I sat and watched, in awe.How every activity I had, I could look up in the bleachers and see you and Mom. You didn't miss anything. Same for your grandkids, as you sat with Mom under an umbrella in the rain to watch Griffin play baseball.How you sometimes would laugh so hard, you cried. When something was really funny, you took your glasses off to wipe the tears from your eyes. I loved seeing you that happy.How last year, we were in downtown Indy, and you stopped in at Starbucks to get some coffee. You bought two, and tried to recreate the drink I often order. It wasn't exactly the same, but I loved that you thought of me.How you and Mom gave me a watch for my Sweet 16, and you wrote a clever poem inside my card. It stated that the watch was to remember my new curfew.How you would tease me for always stealing a pair of socks out of your dresser growing up. (By the way, I grabbed a pair after the funeral to remember you.)How you moved each of us daughters to college, then came home and sat in our bedrooms. Mom told us that it was especially hard on you, knowing we were growing up.How you were so proud of the cornhole boards you made for each of your son-in-laws. And how you happily made more for our friends when they asked where we got them.How every winter you would wear your black leather coat and gloves, with a cute "robber hat," as I would call it. I always thought you were so handsome.How you couldn't wait for Griffin to arrive. I called your cell from the hospital parking lot to tell you I was in labor, but no need to come yet. You told me to look to my left, and there you were, with Mom, sitting in your car.How you came back to see me during the long night of that delivery. I had been hurting, and I could see in your eyes that you were worried about me. I saw the same worry years later, as you paced the halls for Kristen, wondering why the nurse hadn't given you an update.How you saved my homemade duster I created for you as a young child. It was made from a piece of wood and shag carpet, and I found it on your workbench the week after you died. It must be 30 years old, but the yarn that spells "I love you Daddy" is still there.How you would get up on Saturday mornings to buy doughnuts at the little General store down the street, returning home with tiger-tails of chocolate and yeast twisted together. I think of you when I see them in bakeries today.How you would stare guys down who glanced at your teenaged daughters, and embarrass us when you asked them, "What are you looking at?"How you would stick your tongue out at your grandchildren, knowing they would tell Mom that "Papaw needs to sit in time alone." You would laugh and do it all over again.How you ordered me a book on the internet that you thought I should read to learn more about Griffin's health problems. The next day, you called to say it was a good read. Turns out, you had ordered two, one for me and one for you.How I always knew you were sentimental, but realized it even more when I grabbed that pair of socks from your dresser a few weeks ago. Under the socks, I discovered a picture of your late parents, my grandparents, in a frame. It was tucked away for safe keeping, just as I do with my memories of a father who always put his children first.I love you, Dad.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
9 comments:
Thank you for letting us into your heart. It's so obvious how much you were loved and how much you loved your dad! Keep those memories coming. You will treasure them always and so will your boys!
And, you can tell - he loved you too. You are an amazing daugther to carry on his legacy.
DEB YOUR DAD TAUGHT ME HOW TO BE A DAD HE WAS A GREAT FATHER BROTHER AND FRIEND AND I WILL MISS HIM ALWAYS
LOVE UNCLE TOM
Uncle Mike was the best uncle anyone could ever ask for. He never let me down and he never will. I'll miss him forever.
Love you, Jessy
I normally do not post things, nor do I know how...this is my 3rd attempt at posting this message! So here goes nothing.
The heck with anonymous comments, this is your Brother-in-law. Deb, you said it Perfectly... as I sit in front of the computer screen crying my eyes out. Mike meant the absolute world to me. I have not only lost a close buddy, but I lost a second Dad. You always hear that there is a special place in heaven for Dad's with three girls... and I have no doubt in my mind that Mike is at the top of that special place! I can only hope that someday I can look at Jackson and say that I have been half the Dad to you that your Papaw Mike was to his girls...that will be enough for me!
About the corn-hole boards. Mike wanted to make them for the whole world once he saw how special we thought they were.... but little did he know that we knew Uncle Tom was the engineer on 90% of the construction!!!!
Deb, not a big blogger....but Thank You.
Love You,
Your opinionated Brother-in-law
Deb, your words are beautiful. What an awesome tribute. As I write in tears, know that I miss Dad as well. As is obvious by your journal writings, he was such a special Husband, Father, and Grandfather. I'm so lucky to have ever known him. I wasn't even his daughter and he made me feel like I was part of your family. I feel so much love for your Dad and reading this tonight makes me love him even more. You are so very lucky to have such a wonderful father who adored you more than anything in this world. Griffin and Hayden will love knowing all about growing up with Papaw Mike and I know they will share these same joys with you. He holds such a special place in our hearts. He will continue to live on through you. I know that he is one proud Papa up in heaven right now. I can just hear him bragging about his girls this very minute...that is after he's bragged about his grandkids!!! I'm here for you and I love you. Nick
OMG I just started reading you blog and don't even "know" you but am crying my eyes out...
what a beautiful tribute to your Dad...
When I lost my Mom 6 years ago I could not muster such organized thought for some time; I applaud your efforts. Your details are beautiful and touching and your love shines through.
May you always remember those wonderful times and special moments with your Dad. Continue to write them down just in case you should ever forget (I don't know why but I panic about forgetting), and if you're like me, you'll find memories long forgotten pop up when you least expect it too, just like gentle 'hellos' when you need them...
Best wishes-
Deb- You are a very lucky woman to have had a father so great!!
What a wonderful post! I'm going to remember the watch gift for my own kids now! great idea!!
Deb- You wrote a wonderful piece. It made me laugh and cry. I love the part about the new watch and the new curfew. That sounds so much like your Dad. I can't wait for Griffin and Hayden to read your journal when they get older. You have a very special family.
Love, Dawn
Post a Comment