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August 2, 2004
Life’s unexpected blessings:
Taking a nap with your almost 4 year old and waking up to her stroking your cheek as she gazes into your face, having moved to the same pillow.
Having your face squeezed in the small hands of your two year old as she gives you a big kiss and then violently throws her arms around your neck and embraces your neck so hard you think you might choke – pulling you into her big hug.
I love you, Mommy Leigh.
God Bless Mommy!
These are the things I have to be grateful for after a long day of feeling incredibly lonely and sad. Today (it is after midnight as I write this, so I am referring to yesterday, August 2, 2004) was the 10 year anniversary of my Dad’s death. 10 years ago, right at this very moment, I was reminiscing with one of my best friends on the planet – talking about my 16th birthday when I had a sleepover with 2 friends and my Dad watched Dances with Wolves with us. My friend had me laughing toward tears with the memory of my Dad commenting on how the character seemed to be more “in moaning” than in mourning – remember the scene where Kevin gets his groove on with the widow? I think that is what we were talking about 10 years ago right at this moment. She stayed with me until very late/very early that night into morning… We are still friends today and I still think of how important she was to me and how much she tried to help in those days following my Dad’s passing.
I miss him something fierce. I miss his smile. I miss his jokes. I miss his teasing. I miss his authoritative way. I miss his unexpected gentleness. I miss his motorcycle and the rides he would take me on, I will regret for the rest of my life that I only went with him once that summer – to a softball game – the first and last time we played on the same sports team, that one game I filled in because one of the women was sick. What a blast we had, riding on the bike to the game and me playing for real with my dad – as equals on the same team.
We were always on the same “team” – we were almost two peas in a pod, my Dad and I. We would argue with each other for the sake of the debate – he was always “right” just because he was “The Dad” – even if I won the debate, he was right. :)
I remember at my high school graduation, I presented him with a diploma (it was something they gave us graduating seniors to give to our parents) – but I didn’t just give it to him – I told him how much it meant to me that he pushed and pushed and that his support and encouragement (albeit at times, pretty harsh) had forced me to be successful in spite of myself.
He was my hero. He still is my hero. It is astounding to me as I re-read that sentence… I don’t know that I have ever acknowledged that in those words. My Dad was the embodiment of what I want to be as a person and as a parent. He pushed himself to be the best. He was promoted at work, he was ambitious enough to build his own business and spent years working his regular job full-time and then working his own business full-time in order to build it up. He started in our garage, then they moved into rented space in an old building, then they moved to a bigger space… He laid the foundation that in just the last couple years, the business has been moved to its own building. I hope the men that work there look at the picture of my Dad that hangs in that shop and know they would have loved working for him. I hope they know what a blessing he was to everyone in his life. He would have given a stranger the last shirt he owned and the last morsel of food in the pantry. He never had to, because he made sure there was an abundance to share.
He loved hard and worked hard and played hard. He was like a little boy a lot of the time. I remember him rolling around the floor with us when we were small; I remember him rolling around the floor with us when we were too big to roll around on the floor :) When we visit my uncle (my Dad’s younger brother) and rolls around on the floor with my children, I am reminded of the joy my Dad had when he played with us and the other kids in the family. He was The Family Man.
He was amazing and caring and giving. He was thoughtful and helpful and kind. He had so many “best friends” that wept openly at his memorial and funeral. There was standing room only. There were these big tough guys I had known practically my whole life who stood before me with tears streaming and telling me how much my Dad meant to them. My elementary and middle school principal came to the funeral because he respected and liked my Dad so much – he had even testified on behalf that my Dad be granted custody of me. My boss from the university came because anyone who was the parent of such an honorable girl/employee was worthy of paying respect. Neighbors from 10 years before came and openly regretted not keeping in better touch. Men I had never met came up and told me that my Dad was their best friend and they were his best friend – Imagine! A man that worked 60+ hours/week who spent every moment of free time with his family and 3+ children (he practically adopted many others who lived with us throughout the years – children of friends and then as a foster dad) and was devoted to his mother and siblings, he was able to make so many individuals feel they were the closest ones to his heart. These Harley-riding-leather-wearing-hard-working men were all abluther over losing their dear friend and confidant.
The man who knew the most about my Dad was a former co-worker and is also a minister. He started the eulogy, but couldn’t finish it through his tears. I learned that day that my Dad was a Christian – something I wish I had known many years before. I sure could have used the knowledge that Christ was holding me in His arms those days.
My Dad lived a life envied by others – he seemed to have it all: a successful business, a great family, a wonderful home, many friends. But he worked hard to make it that way. He worked every day to make our lives better. He worked every day to make the lives of others better, even if just by making them feel important and loved.
There were hundreds of people there that day to bid farewell to a truly great man and great friend. I was in awe as we drove to the cemetery for the internment and looked back to see the sea of cars with their lights on – miles of cars traveling many miles to where my Dad’s body would be laid to rest. It was incredible how many people loved him, incredible how many still do.
I was going to talk about my sad day, but this has turned into such a wonderful tribute to my Dad that I think I will stop here. I am so blessed to have had my Dad in my life for nearly 19 years. I am sad that I haven’t been able to share the most amazing moments of my life with him – my husband and our marriage, the births of his beautiful granddaughters… I know he has been witness to everything that has happened and I am grateful for that knowledge, but man, I wish I could see his face and throw my arms around his neck. I wish he could roll around on the floor with my children, inciting giggles and chuckles from him and the girls. I wish I could hear his loud, booming laughter and see his eyes crinkle up in glee. I wish I could tell him one last time how much he meant to me and how much I still want to be just like him. It seems I can’t stop writing about him… I will end by saying that I look forward to the day when we will all be together again, worshipping at the feet of God together. I may not have found Christ through my Dad’s example, but my Dad’s example was the closest witness I have seen to the humility and generosity of Christ. I only wish I had known of his faith while he was alive.
Dad, you have given me the greatest living example of the person I want to be. You gave me unconditional love – the closest I have come to knowing Christ’s infinite love for us. I know you are in Heaven interceding on my behalf and I pray that you have found endless peace at the feet of our Father.
I love you and miss you more than I could ever say.
Many Blessings,
Holly
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