From a Daughter’s Journal
Casino Danova – 2011
A bitterly cold north wind swirled, as tiny ice-encrusted snowflakes blotted out the December sunset. It was a day I’ll never forget. The five short years since that day seemed like only a few weeks ago.
I was seated with my brothers and sisters in the front row of Trimmer’s funeral home. In the open casket, I could see my dad’s profile. He lay motionless in the silence that filled the air. Tears welled up in my overly-tired eyes, and a huge lump formed in my throat. I’d been reflecting back on his dedication to us and the love he shared with so many others.
From my earliest memory, he had spent an inordinate amount of time hugging, kissing, and playing with us. He was a man who truly loved his kids. I remember the frequent piggyback rides and how he’d chase me around the house, always pretending not to catch me. Then he’d make believe that I’d worn him out. I’d hide in a closet or under my bed, where I didn’t think he’d look.
A vivid picture of a little red wagon came to mind. That image was instantly replaced by Daddy’s encouragement as I rode my bike. It was my first time without training wheels.
There were all those endlessly happy days when we splashed in the backyard kiddie pool. He frequently came out to join us. His body took up half the pool and he let us pour buckets of water over him. How many were the days when he took us to a park to play in the sandbox, on go down the slide, or the swings. So unforgettable.
We’d laugh ourselves sick when we got on that miniature merry-go-round, and he’d spin it as fast as it would go. I wish, now, that those days had never ended.
My two brothers and I were the last three of seven kids. Dad had been married before and I had older sisters and brothers. His first wife tried to stifle his privacy to the point of nearly smothering him. He’d stuck it out as long as he could, finally giving up after ten years. As I grew up, I didn’t see much of my half-siblings. They were older and living with their own families by then.
Daddy spent a lot of time making sure that our childhood was as happy as any kid could want. I discovered at some point that, when he was around thirty years old, he’d lost half the vision in one of his eyes. At the time, he was working on his commercial pilot’s license. He even had his own plane. With his eye problems, though, he had to give that up. That was really hard on him. Somehow, he kept going.
There were times when it was pretty tough but, as kids, we never knew how bad things were. He always found a way to keep us fed and clothed. When his other eye started to fail, he would spend more time working to earn the same income.
Mom was not as close to us as he had been. She seemed distant in so many ways. Until we were about four or five years old, we begged her to let us fall sleep on their bed with them. Mom didn’t like that idea too much, but Daddy always found a way to talk her into it. We curled up with our blankies, pressing our bodies as close as possible to his side.
We never really knew how but, in the morning, we always woke up in our own beds. He later told us that it was quite a struggle getting out from under us. He had to crawl up over his pillow in order to escape. Then he carried us, one-by-one to our rooms. He’d tuck us in, always ending the routine with a goodnight kiss.
He took us on hikes, packed down the snow for us so we could slide faster on our sleds, played baseball in the front yard, or wrestled in the back. He blew bubbles with us on the porch, pointing out all the colors of the rainbow, just as a large bubble floated away. He always took more pictures of me than I ever wanted, then showing them to all his friends.
On that winter night, sitting in the funeral home, those thoughts brought a gasp from my chest, and a flood of tears betrayed my resolve. Large drops fell from my chin, staining my blouse. I could not have wished for any other man to have been my father. It must have been predetermined that we’d be father and daughter. There can be no other explanation.
I vaguely remember times before I was five, when I’d fall asleep on his arm as we sat on the couch. It was sort of a ritual as each of us kids took our turn. Age-wise, I was spaced right between my two brothers.
Daddy taught us to watch out for each other. I particularly recall one day, when we were going to school, he stood watching, as the school bus picked us up. When we got back home, I heard him tell my older brother, “I saw you get on the bus first, before your sister. “A gentleman lets his sister on first, and he follows. Coming home, he gets off first to be sure his sister doesn’t fall as she steps down.” From that day on, my brother did exactly that.
I felt loved by my brothers, almost as much as Daddy did. It was as if his love was being perpetuated by his sons toward every woman. That was especially true if he heard one of us giving Mom any back-talk. My step-brother once raised his hand toward Mom and when Daddy found out, he took him out to the back yard. I hid by the doorway and heard him say, “of all the mistakes you will ever make in this life, if you ever hit your mother, you’ll never want to hit another woman.”
With a crisp, short, soft tone to his voice, Daddy promised that he would make sure of that. I was old enough to know that when he spoke like that, he meant every syllable of every word. He taught my brothers so many things about respecting women.
I smiled, as I reflected on how he told them that they had to always be sure to put the lid down on the toilet seat. He warned them that Mom or I might fall in, and we’d never be seen again. They were young enough to believe it and by the time they knew better, the habit had been deeply ingrained.
Sitting there, I looked around the room and saw my oldest brother, sitting in the row behind me, to my left. As our eyes met, I saw him holding his wife’s hand. Daddy said there were several ways in which a man could always get along with the woman: only touch a woman with hands of love; tell her how special she is; And, third, be faithful.
One of these days, when I find the love of my life, he will live up to those expectations, or I’ll just keep on looking. He told me that I should never, ever lower my standards just to be with ‘some guy.
Many years ago, when Mom was going through the ravaging effects of menopause, she became emotionally unstable. After much personal difficulty, she told Daddy that she wanted a divorce. Her explanation was that she wanted to be free and have fun. She had completely lost it.
The next thing I remember, she and Daddy were separated. It was the most devastating thing I ever saw anyone go through. Almost overnight, he seemed to age ten years.
I don’t think he ever loved anyone more than he loved her. She had her mind set on her own agenda, though. By the time they separated, she was already dating another guy. He promised her that she’d have money and no responsibilities. He just happened to say the right things at the wrong time. She was so vulnerable and didn’t have a clue what she was doing.
I chose to live with her, feeling that she shouldn’t be alone. And, I figured that it would only be for a couple of months at most, till they could work things out. My brothers were very angry with her and decided to stay with Daddy. We lived close enough that I was able to visit them every weekend. It took Dad almost four years to recover, as far as I could tell. But, down deep inside, he grieved deeply over the divorce. Even on that cold depressing night, I felt that his grief never ended.
On those days when I was visiting, Daddy would say, “Hi, Sweetheart. How’s my Sugarlips?” When I left, he always gave me a hug and a kiss, and whispered, “I love you, Baby.” Often, he would slip a candy bar into my overnight bag. I’d find it the next day. And, whenever I needed it, he would give me whatever money he had in his pocket.
In my last year of high school, I found that with a part-time job, a boyfriend, cheerleading, and other school activities, it became increasingly easy to not see him. On rare occasions, when I spoke with him on the phone, he’d ask me how I was and if I’d be coming over that weekend. He never hung up without saying, “I love you.”
When a child is that age, not even a special father is as important as all those other activities. I always knew he’d be there for me, and never thought we’d run out of time. My days were just so full.
I saw my younger brother in school. My older brother and I would go shopping now and then, or go out for a burger. I guess that was sufficient at the time. Yet, I had a gnawing feeling that I was not being the daughter Daddy loved so deeply. It grew easier with each passing day to ‘let it slide.’ I kept telling myself that I would get back to see him soon.
Before I knew it, I’d gone off to college, living far away from home. I planned on calling, but I’d convinced myself that a term break, or the next holiday would be here soon. I’d see him then.
And I did, but our time together was never enough. Even when I wasn’t in school, I had friends to keep me busy, with concerts to go to, water skiing, and dozens of other little things.
Then, all of a sudden, the tomorrows disappeared. It was too late. My most sincere plans never came to fruition. My heavy heart grieved, wishing for just a few more minutes with Daddy. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him and hear him whisper, “I love you, Sugarlips.”
My grief was lessened a little, as his words echoed through my mind, “I gave you that nickname because of how sweet your kisses were when you were a little girl.” Oh, what I would do to feel the warmth of one more kiss on his rosy cheeks.
I’d taken him for granted, convincing myself that I’d get around to straightening it all out one day. Well, that day will never come again. No more hours. No more minutes.
As I stared at his motionless body, I kept wishing that he’d smile at me one more time. When we last spoke on the phone, he said, “I know you love me; you just don’t know how to put the words together, yet.” It just wasn’t cool for a teenage girl to say that to her Dad.
He understood kids all too well, but that wasn’t much comfort now. My sadness was heightened as I overheard my brother recall the time he landed a job at the local supermarket. He had been really down on himself after losing his previous job, but Daddy was always there for him. Dave was whispering about the day when Daddy went out with him to help him find another job.
The two of them headed for the unemployment office, then picked up applications at every business along the highway. While Dad waited in the car, Dave went in and filled out a job application. One of those companies hired him on the spot, and he was on the job by the following Monday.
Daddy never gave up on his kids. He rarely saw our negative traits and consistently praised us for our accomplishments. I knew that his mother had died when he was young. He said that he was deprived of the opportunity to go to the cemetery to see her buried. It had been one of his greatest losses.
Like a leaking faucet, memories ran down my cheeks. My heart grieved for not being there more often. But, I am left with the promise he gave us. He wasn’t a terribly religious man, but he did know that we would all be together again on the other side. He reminded me that mortality was a prison, full of tears. Our separation, he once said, is like a two-way mirror.
While he never had many earthly possessions, he always said that he was as rich as any millionaire. “My kids are worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox.” I’ll never have any doubts about whether God cares about us because He gave me a sampling of His love with my father.
It’s funny how, during moments of tremendous emotional pain, that we tend to focus on the most absurd things. As we all stood by his casket, I noticed the high pitch of the whirling wind as it tried to find a way into the room. And the crackling of the heater vents on the floor. I’ve never told anyone, but it was then that I vowed to honor his memory by giving others my most valuable possession—time.
On the way home, my sister was talking about a time when she’d called Dad. In the conversation she asked him, “why is it that I never spank my kids, no matter how mad I get at them?” He told her to stop and think about it for a moment. After a short silence, she said, “oh, yeah. You never hit us.”
She continued, “but, Dad, I’d really like to learn how to stop yelling at them.” He replied, “well, I could tell you, but you’re not ready for it yet.
She said, “yes, I am,” so he suggested that she put a voice-activated tape recorder on a coffee table. After the kids go to bed, she was to play it back and listen to her words. After thinking about it, she replied, “you know, Dad, you’re right. I’m not ready for that yet.” I think she might be now.
The following day, we laid to rest a gentle man. Shortly after returning home, I was picking up my mail. I found a final letter from Daddy. I opened it and my heart was filled with joy as I read his words, “I love you, Sugarlips. I will spend my time preparing so that, once again, I can be with such a beautiful young lady. Love, Dad.
On his headstone we placed a message for all to see, Love fills the chasms carved by the pains of life.