Happy Moving Day

It slipped up on me until I saw the date on my phone this morning, but fifteen years ago today, Dad went home.   His absence still hovers around us in quiet places after all these years.

Dad’s missed multiple graduations – they would have bored him to death like my piano recitals, but he’d go because that was the grandfatherly thing to do and he so loved our three kids.  He wouldn't even miss the college ones, or Jeff’s commissioning, if he could have physically made it, and he'd be so proud of who those three are becoming.

And  he's missed three weddings – he’d fall in love with the ones our children chose, because he would know they chose well.

And four great grands that he would absolutely adore --  Titus, our favorite boy, smart, quiet and thoughtful.  Elli, our happy hearted one, with big blue eyes, who keeps us laughing.  Leala, our noticer of life with curly red hair and increasing opinions of her own.  And beautiful strong-willed baby Asa…who looks just like her dad and acts just like her mom.  He would love them each the best.

I miss my Dad.  There was something magical about his blue eyes, they always twinkled with joy.   There was something reassuring about his presence.  Something wise and thoughtful about the way he lived his life. 

Happy moving day, Dad.  Have you in my heart.

January 30, 1949

Bill and Virginia.  A love story.

Today would have been my parents 65th anniversary.  So i called Mom and asked her to tell me about the day she got married... Mom was 21 and Dad was almost 21, and this what she recounted. Parentheses are mine.

"It was a Sunday afternoon, January 30, 1949.  There was 8 inches of ice on the ground.  The roads had been closed for over a week when Dad  (that's what she calls him when talking  to me)  finally got home from Stillwater.  It was between semesters.  We got married at the Methodist Church in Ft. Towson, Oklahoma. Mama Jo (Mom's mother), Granny (Mom's grandmother), Aunt Ruth (Dad's aunt who pretty much raised him), Mrs. Wilson, and the preacher and his wife were there.  Mama Groves (Dad's mother) wouldn't come.  (No surprise there, she didn't like any of the women her sons married.) 

Granny made me a white wool gabardine dress with gold buttons.  She sewed for the public, and it was a very nice dress.  Dad wore a suit. We took the last bus out that afternoon, as it began to snow again, and headed for a borrowed efficiency apartment in Oklahoma City.  Paul Artie (Dad's uncle) offered it to us for our wedding night - it was free...and since we had a total of $40 in our pockets, the price was right.  Our window was broken on the bus, and we almost froze, it was so cold.  There was so much ice everywhere that trees and limbs were broken all along the way and it looked like a disaster area.  (I googled it, and found out it was -16 degrees that day in Ft. Towson...record low for that day.  EVER.)  Dad said it was a hell of a day to get married.

Paul Artie had been out of town for a while, so when we got to the little apartment, it was frigid.  We turned on the open flame gas heaters and everything else to try to warm it up.  Woke up with the worst headaches in the morning, skin felt creepy and we were just miserable all around.  Dad asked me if I felt funny - then we both jumped up and started throwing open the windows and turning off the gas, realizing the gas had eaten up all the oxygen in the apartment and we had almost gassed ourselves.  I was just about then thinking to myself, 'if this is what marriage is like...i want out!'"

They eventually made it on to Stillwater...and began to live happily ever after. For which i am thankful.

Mom and Dad, you did it right, and showed us what true love is.  For better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health,  til death do us part.

Christmas Musings

I guess I learned to love Christmas from my Dad. It was, hand’s down, his favorite time of year. Enchanted by the delicious magic of it all, his blue eyes twinkled brighter at Christmas than any other time. The things I remember most are the things Mom and Dad did with us, and in making our own entertainment we were rich beyond imagination… Driving around looking at Christmas lights, watching people at the mall (especially children), huge extended family holidays at Mama Jo’s old sprawling Oklahoma farmhouse with more people than you could count,

lying by the tree and watching the lights twinkle to the Christmas music Dad always kept playing. (Back in those days, the lights were bigger and had individual “twinklers”, not like the strands we have today. Dad named them after choir members at church to get an even bigger laugh…the one that always came in late was “Dave”, etc.)

Family was priceless, friends were always welcomed, snuggles were longer and warmer, and Christmas came amidst the beauty of it all.

The Gift

Grief is powerful.

Ten years ago in early December, my Dad went Home. I remember that first Christmas, how I was ambushed by waves of grief when I least expected it. Like one day in Dillards, when O HOLY NIGHT, Dad’s favorite Christmas song, came over the loudspeaker, and I had no where to turn from the raw and painful emotions. I hid in the clothes rack for a while, then just finally handed the sales clerk my purchase with tears streaming down my face, and no explanation on my lips.

Or like when we went to see Mom, and I would go in Dad’s closet when no one was looking, so I could hold his clothes up to my face and breathe in that wonderful, sweet, rugged Dad aroma. Dad smelled so good. So familiar. I could just stand there and breathe deeply and actually still smell him. Something so tangible I could hold on to...so I could remember him.

You never knew when it would just come over you from nowhere. A song, a smell, a child’s laugh, anything precious could trigger it without warning. Yet as time began to heal the painfulness of absence, it happened less. Mom eventually cleaned out Dad’s closet. Time passed. Things changed.

But back to the gift.

Duane brought it home from work this week. A navy blue Mr. Rogers sweater of Dad’s. Mom gave it to Duane during the closet cleaning era, and Duane kept it at his office in case he ever needed to warm up at work. He said he didn’t’ know what to do with it so he brought it home -- had rarely worn it and needed the closet space now. I held the folded sweater up to my face. Inhaled. Remembered . After ten years, surprisingly, unmistakably...it still smelled like Dad.

You never realize the things you will miss the most -- their smell, their voice, their handwriting…. The things that you can no longer have once they cross over.

But this Christmas, I received a gift.

Two-fer

Today is a two-fer. It is Father's Day. And it is also my grandbaby's first birthday. So a short word about both, for the record.

1. Father's Day:

I love my husband. He's mostly pretty much a mess, but he keeps our lives interesting. I know he completes me, because we are so totally opposite in about every way imagineable. But despite the ways the Lord uses him to build character in me, he is loving and generous and funny (sometimes) and adventuresome. He is even getting better at bringing me flowers - just because! He's a good dad, and an even better grandfather (or Baba, as Titus would call him.) Here's to you, hon. Happy Father's Day!

I miss my Dad. There was something almost magical about his blue eyes, they always seemed to twinkle with life...even to the end. His life was marked by unconditional love and patience that was beyond measure. His Father's Days were marked by lunch at El Chico every year, because WE loved Mexican food. (He didn't.) One of his favorite sayings was, "the joy is in the journey!" and he and mom lived it out. He finished well. Here's to you, Dad. Happy Father's Day! You simply beat us home.

2. Elli:

And now, Miss Elli! Happy birthday! It has been one interesting year for us because of you! You have stolen our hearts, and you grace our lives in ways even yet to be discovered. So here's to you, as well, little one. The joy, indeed, is in the journey.

Suffering

I'm not a big fan of popes (nothing against them, its only because I like Jesus a lot better), but I saved the religion page of the April 2, 2005 Houston Chronicle simply because of this great quote by Pope John Paul II. It is regarding suffering and is in an article about faith, life, and death. Pope John Paul II made a point of showing the world the suffering that comes at the end of life, as he lived frail and bent in the spotlight in his last days. So here's the quote. "Suffering is part of God's wonderful plan."


Can't help but thinking about it during Easter.


To all my friends who are struggling, whether with cancer or broken hearts over broken children, broken dreams, or broken marriages...to Marion, Sharon, Kelly,Fayrene, Cindy, Terri, and others. I whisper to you what i whispered to my sweet Dad when he still understood, but could no longer speak and no longer answer back, "Thank you for choosing to honor God even in your pain. Finish strong!" Dad was the best example ever at overcoming, and rose above his circumstances and suffering to finish strong when it would have been so much easier to give up, to be overwhelmed, to make everyone else suffer with him.


Can't help but thinking about it during Easter.

Good reading: Romans 5:3, Romans 8:17-18, Philippians 3:10, 1 Peter 2:19, 1 Peter 4:12-13