I Could Always Count on You, Daddy

Daddy,

Whenever I was upset (about anything), feeling confused or hurt, or just plain had a question in mind, I could always run to you - because I knew you would have the answer. If I was upset, or crying, you'd quietly whisper, "Shhhhh, it's okay, Honey... it will be all right." Sometimes, if I was particularly offended or sobbing uncontrollably, you would just hold me, and LET ME cry.

How can I thank you today? You've been gone for 31 years now.

I guess the best way, and this came to me after group therapy today, is to remember the times that you were there for me, when you understood my feelings and gave them value. You never seemed too busy for me, and maybe I was spoiled, but if you didn't have time at that particular moment, you'd say "In a little while, Daddy's busy right now." That would give me something to look forward to later.

I remember the love that you gave to me, by just being there and letting me be myself, without criticism or anger. Sure, there were times when you disciplined us, even to the point of spanking, but there was always a good reason for it: a lesson to be learned from it.

You were always warm and kind in your words and actions; even just the tone of your voice let me know that you loved me very much. How else would you have had as much patience as you did, in your forties and early fifties, to help me as I grew from a baby to a child, then to a pre-teen, whose body was developing ahead of schedule. I felt awkward being the only girl in fifth grade (or so I thought), who had to wear a bra, but you would always tell me I was pretty, and that you were proud of me when I made good grades, or hit home runs, or even went out of my way to help someone else.

The year that you died, 1975, our softball team came in first place again, and I made the all-stars again, but what surprised me the most was when the team gave me the Good Sportsmanship award. You always taught me to encourage others, not to put people down because of their abilities or lack thereof. You told me to cheer for the other players, and to praise them when they got a hit, or tell them "Good try!" if they struck out.

I tried to learn some of the patience and tolerance you had, which I was somewhat unaware of until 1974, when you helped coach the team. You were so fair with everyone, hitting the ball to each of us in turn. Plus you never put anybody down for making a mistake, but helped them by suggesting a different way to approach it, thereby improving their skills while giving them confidence, too.

I am sorry that I never thought of this so clearly before, but I really should take all that love you gave me, and not let it go to waste. From now on, when I'm upset or confused, I'll remember your kindness when I crawled up on your lap, and you whispered "Shhhh, it's okay... it will be allright." And then you'd usually offer a solution to the problem, or give me some direction in how to find my own solutions.

I know no father is perfect, but when I think back to the years before I turned twelve, I cannot remember a single time when I was afraid of you, or could not talk to you. You were always understanding, supportive, and encouraging. I want to be that way to myself, as if you were still here watching me from the sidelines, coaching me through life, because I know you would have had you not had to leave this world at such a young age.

Death scares me very much... I'm sure I obsess on it far too often. But every time I have a dream about you, Daddy, it is always an exremely happy occasion. In the dream, you are alive again, and I am just SO happy to see you again, that I can hardly contain myself.

Once, I dreamed we were at a Braves game, just like old times when Hank Aaron played. We were standing in the row of seats at the ball park, eating popcorn (I think). I'm not sure if you were drinking a beer, as you usually did at night, but I remember I was trying to get your attention, and I felt like you weren't listening. So I grabbed your arm, and you turned to me, and I said, "Daddy, I can't believe you are really here. I have dreamed about you coming to visit me SO many times, and now it has finally come true! I just can't believe this time it is really real!"

Then you spoke these words, and these words only, before you turned back to the game... "Just watch the game, honey."

In a way, those words seem to be prophetic, now that I think about it more. Maybe you were telling me to just "watch" the game of life, to pay attention to what was going on around me... "keep my eye on the ball". I don't know, maybe I'm reading a little too much into it, but it's rare in my dreams that you actually say anything. I've heard that all the characters that you create in a dream are really you, so maybe I was just trying to tell myself that... who knows?

But then I wake up... back to the cold hard reality of life, and it hits me. You're gone! Not again! Life without you has been so hard... why does it have to be that way? That's when the feeling of exhileration drops suddenly to instant longing and sadness, and I can't believe that my subconscious mind has tricked me again. Sometimes I even become angry about it, but just try to brush it off, get up and go about my day. But the thought of you lingers, throughout the day, like the smell of burnt toast - unpleasant but hard to get rid of.

The next time I have another dream like that, I hope I will remember what I realized today... that your love is still here with me... it always has been. It's just that I didn't acknowledge it as real. Instead I tried to forget everything, because it was just too painful to remember - it only made me miss you more.

Daddy, thank you - for everything you did for us... for always being there to talk to. I know it must have been hard to work for the railroad and then come home with enough energy to help me with my homework, teach me how to pitch, or just listen to how my day was.

Thank you for loving me.


The day after tomorrow is your birthday...(and Grandpa's, too). Instead of being sad that you are "not here" physically any more, I will make an effort to remember the loving words you gave me... gifts to carry me through for the rest of my life, however long that may be.

Your spirit is still here with me, to offer me hope and encouragement twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and 52 weeks a year. Same as God, I suppose... although I HAVE had a resentment all these years for him taking you. I am moving more toward entertaining the idea that maybe God had nothing to do with it. It's just the way life here on earth ends, and a new one begins. How do I know what wonderful plans God may have for us, after we leave here?

Acceptance is not an easy thing, when your soul is torn apart by grief. But I will also learn to accept the fact that your spirit never really died, and to pay attention to that voice in my head, the memory of your loving kindness, which will stay with me FOREVER.

LOVE,
Cathy