40 years ago this week
we buried my father.
How can that be?
When did the years stack
one on top of another
to reach that high?
He was born and raised on
a farm in Pennsylvania.
He was a medic in WWI~
YES! WWI~
He taught agriculture at
Penn State for a few years.
He was an insurance salesman
with his brother, Guy, for
a few years..
but finally,
he went back to what
he knew and loved~
dairy farming.
He bought a farm 3 miles
from the one he was raised on
and moved an old schoolhouse to
the property and made it into
his home.
Then he met my mother.
He was well-settled into bachelorhood
when he met my mother.
She was 16 years younger
and I think he felt pretty
lucky to have snagged her.
She had never had children
either and was 36 when
I was born~
Unusual for that era.
My father was 53 when I
was born and I was his
first child.
Can you imagine what he
must have felt like to
be blessed with a child
at that age?
Well, SOME people didn't think
I was a blessing..but I won't mention
their names here.
I was the apple of my
father's eye.
He took me everyplace....
to the livestock market,
to the little juke joint down
the road from the market,
where he would buy me
an orange soda,
to the feed mill,
to the doctor,
to ride along and
check out the fields
and crops.
When I was 10 or 11
I remember a series of
trips he took. I was left
with my Aunt next door
and he and my mother
would disappear for a few hours.
And then a few more trips,
and voices at my Aunt's house
that would stop when I would
walk into the kitchen..
I would see
my Aunt's reddened eyes,
and the odd look on my mother's face,
but I still didn't know what was
going on.
At that age, you think life is
just going to go along as
it always has...
easy~ with long days ahead to
enjoy being a child.
Soon after that my brother
and I (who was born 4 years
after I was) learned that
father had
Parkinson's Disease.
A disease that would
eventually rob him of his
strength and his mobility
but never his spirit.
He told jokes until
the day he died.
I was one of those kids
that never said what I really
felt. I cannot tell you the
opportunities I missed to
tell him I loved him.
Oh- he knew-
but I never said it.
I actually don't ever
remember telling him that...
even though I loved him to the
core of my very being...
and I knew that he loved me
and accepted me
UNCONDITIONALLY.
That doesn't happen often in life..
that we are loved
unconditionally.
I was 22 and living in FL
when he passed away.
It was eerie, I was
working in an office and
my phone rang.
Nothing unusual about that ,
my phone was the main line
in to my boss and it rang
nonstop.
I was sitting in an office across
from a guy named Jack.
Before I picked the phone up
I looked at Jack and said,
My father just died.
I KNEW..Somehow..I KNEW.
That was exactly what
I was told, by my mother,
over her crackly phone line.
I hung up and Jack was
as white as a ghost.
How did you know that? he asked.
I just knew~ I answered.
It's been a long 40 years.
My father never saw any of his
grandchildren except my oldest son.
He missed out on the joy of
seeing me grown and happy.
He missed my brother's life story
and his children.
I missed the opportunity
to say
I LOVE YOU..
So...here it is...
a little late.
I LOVE YOU, DAD~
Never, never miss the opportunity
to tell someone
that you love them.
(Providing you DO love them,
of course!;>)
I do it everyday,
every chance I get,
because you just never know~
life, as you know it,
can change in an instant.
Just say it...
Say I LOVE YOU to
someone you love.
You'll be glad you did.
I promise!
Hey-It's not MY kid!
