My Dad was the sweetest guy around. He had the patience of Job (one bathroom, five daughters . . . seriously, the man deserves sainthood!). Dad died in 1984. He had a stroke and nine days later, he had a massive heart attack. He had not been sick and had been retired for a couple of years, golfed every day and had told me only the week or so before, that he hadn't felt so good in years.
It is amazing that so many years have passed. I can still hear his voice and know that he is still watching out for all of us. I can still see him with all of my nieces and nephews as babies. He could take any fussy, crabby baby, and he would just wrap them up tight, snuggle down in his chair and coo to them. Pretty soon, he and the crabby baby would both be sound asleep.
I would have loved him to have met my children. I know that he would have loved Sarah's gentleness and Lindsey's laughter and brilliance. And Zachariah, he would have been the one sitting on our family room floor and playing with the train set. It is so strange because I can see him there, adjusting the tracks and loading the trains. They would have had so much fun together.
I miss you Dad. Give Mom a hug for me.
2 comments:
Isn't it ironic how you would think that as the years go by you would miss your parents less, but in reality you miss them more?
Jane (teary-eyed)
thanks Jane. It is ironic. I have a great friend whose Mom was a incredibly baseball fan. Janet cannot make it through a seven inning stretch without getting teary-eyed. She once asked me if she would get over that and I told her "no, but would you want to?"
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