It has been more than a dozen years since my Daddy died. In a sense, it seems like he’s been gone forever; yet, I’ve never really felt that he was very far away. Probably because he comes to visit us from time to time…
He came to see me first, just a few weeks after his funeral. It was in the early hours of the morning, during that sacred time where you subconsciously cling to those last precious moments of sleep, trying to ignore the inevitability of waking up. I was putting up a good fight for more sleep, when I felt my Daddy kiss me ‘good-morning’. I opened my eyes, fully expecting to see his sweet smiling face…and was shockingly disappointed that he wasn’t still there. I couldn’t wait to hop out of bed and call Mom, who turned out to be more than just mildly pissed he hadn’t come to see her first.
A few months later Daddy redeemed himself. Mom had a vivid dream that he came into her bedroom, woke her up…and they danced. They danced and danced and danced all through the night. The next morning when her alarm sounded, she immediately remembered the dream and was filled with a renewed sense of loss…until she looked over at my Daddy’s side of the bed and saw an indention on his pillow,where a weary angel might’ve laid his head after a night of dancing with his bride.
Just three short years after Daddy’s death, my Mom’s 92 year old Mother found her way to heaven. At the small, intimate memorial service, my son and nephews began to sing Amazing Grace in beautiful harmony. Nobody else was singing…until Mom joined in with her strong, sweet alto. After the services I told Mom how it melted my heart to hear her voice blending with her grandsons. She said, “I wasn’t the only one singing. I heard that big bass voice in my ear, and it made me want to sing, too.” My brother and my Daddy are the owners of the big bass voices in our family. My brother had sat quietly beside Mom during the services…and never sang a note. I was sitting directly behind her…and never heard the big bass voice. We all knew for certain that Daddy’s voice was the one that inspired Mom to sing that day.
Two years later, I was in my bedroom getting ready for my son’s wedding. All of a sudden, one of my music boxes (which hadn’t been touched in months) began spontaneously playing. That particular music box had been the last Valentine gift my Dad had given me…a ceramic robin feeding her nest of baby birds. I looked in his direction, and hoped he caught my smile.
That was eight years ago. And there have been many times during these past eight years that I could've used a visit from my Daddy...or even would have begrudgingly forfeited one of my visits to Mom, who misses him more every day.
Just before Christmas, I stopped by to see Mom and to return her journal. She had given it to me so I could copy some of her writings for a special family Christmas gift. I had woken up at 3:00 that morning and unable to return to sleep, had spent an hour or so typing from her journal, surrounding myself with her words, my heart filled to aching with sentiment. Before I had barely walked through her door she announced, “Your Daddy came to see me last night! I was in a room arguing with a smoking preacher (?) and Paul just walked right up to me, pulled me into his arms and hugged me like I’ve never been hugged. He just held onto me forever, and never said a word.” Her eyes misted over (mine had already spilled over) and she said, “It was so real…I can remember exactly how his thick, leathery neck felt under my hands…I can remember how safe I felt pressed against his chest…and I remember telling him, ‘Everybody needs a man that can hug like you'."
I sure do miss that big hairy angel. Hope he visits again, soon.
He came to see me first, just a few weeks after his funeral. It was in the early hours of the morning, during that sacred time where you subconsciously cling to those last precious moments of sleep, trying to ignore the inevitability of waking up. I was putting up a good fight for more sleep, when I felt my Daddy kiss me ‘good-morning’. I opened my eyes, fully expecting to see his sweet smiling face…and was shockingly disappointed that he wasn’t still there. I couldn’t wait to hop out of bed and call Mom, who turned out to be more than just mildly pissed he hadn’t come to see her first.
A few months later Daddy redeemed himself. Mom had a vivid dream that he came into her bedroom, woke her up…and they danced. They danced and danced and danced all through the night. The next morning when her alarm sounded, she immediately remembered the dream and was filled with a renewed sense of loss…until she looked over at my Daddy’s side of the bed and saw an indention on his pillow,where a weary angel might’ve laid his head after a night of dancing with his bride.
Just three short years after Daddy’s death, my Mom’s 92 year old Mother found her way to heaven. At the small, intimate memorial service, my son and nephews began to sing Amazing Grace in beautiful harmony. Nobody else was singing…until Mom joined in with her strong, sweet alto. After the services I told Mom how it melted my heart to hear her voice blending with her grandsons. She said, “I wasn’t the only one singing. I heard that big bass voice in my ear, and it made me want to sing, too.” My brother and my Daddy are the owners of the big bass voices in our family. My brother had sat quietly beside Mom during the services…and never sang a note. I was sitting directly behind her…and never heard the big bass voice. We all knew for certain that Daddy’s voice was the one that inspired Mom to sing that day.
Two years later, I was in my bedroom getting ready for my son’s wedding. All of a sudden, one of my music boxes (which hadn’t been touched in months) began spontaneously playing. That particular music box had been the last Valentine gift my Dad had given me…a ceramic robin feeding her nest of baby birds. I looked in his direction, and hoped he caught my smile.
That was eight years ago. And there have been many times during these past eight years that I could've used a visit from my Daddy...or even would have begrudgingly forfeited one of my visits to Mom, who misses him more every day.
Just before Christmas, I stopped by to see Mom and to return her journal. She had given it to me so I could copy some of her writings for a special family Christmas gift. I had woken up at 3:00 that morning and unable to return to sleep, had spent an hour or so typing from her journal, surrounding myself with her words, my heart filled to aching with sentiment. Before I had barely walked through her door she announced, “Your Daddy came to see me last night! I was in a room arguing with a smoking preacher (?) and Paul just walked right up to me, pulled me into his arms and hugged me like I’ve never been hugged. He just held onto me forever, and never said a word.” Her eyes misted over (mine had already spilled over) and she said, “It was so real…I can remember exactly how his thick, leathery neck felt under my hands…I can remember how safe I felt pressed against his chest…and I remember telling him, ‘Everybody needs a man that can hug like you'."
I sure do miss that big hairy angel. Hope he visits again, soon.
Well, the blogosphere just got a lot more fun . . . and spirit! I can't wait til the start quoting your blog on CNN. Now behave yourself!
ReplyDeletewoo hoo! I'm #2! I'm #2!
ReplyDeleteYou two are TOO funny :o)
ReplyDelete