Ten Years

Ten years ago today I lost my beloved father to colon cancer. The first picture is of me and him at Easter, 1993. The second picture -- 1956, the year I was born.

My father was a rare person. Quiet, thoughtful, VERY witty, kind, put others first, wise...of course he wasn't perfect, as none of us are, but to desire to be like him would be a good goal.

One day, after beginning first grade, I announced that I was not going to school that day. My mother said she thought, "Oh yes, you are!" My father took me into my bedroom and began chatting with me. Mom said he and I came out after a while, with my father announcing happily, "Linda is going to school today!" Mom thought, "I knew that!!"

My Dad took the time to listen to me. Always. He found out on that day that I thought first grade took too long -- I hated being gone from home all day.

Dad listening to me never changed. I was always Daddy's girl. Whenever I had any problem, concern, or ahem, disobedience, Dad would come to my room and talk. I realize now that he did more listening than talking. My Dad KNEW me, and what he didn't understand, he accepted, and remembered.

My Mom and I are alike in personality, but not temperment, and often did not get along. Dad was the peacemaker, as he KNEW both of us, and could explain us to each other, and give us suggestions. I credit any closeness with my mother, to my father. Now that he is gone, I can truly see how much of a buffer he was; my relationship with my mother is strained. We love each other very much, and communicate weekly by letter, but it's not like it used to be when Dad was around. When Dad died, I had a sense of being orphaned -- he was the one person in my family who knew and understood me. (please don't get a wrong picture of my mother -- she is a GREAT person -- we are simply extremely different in ways that make it difficult to be close; sad, huh?)

I could fill pages and pages with good memories of my father. He even died as he lived. Quietly, loving us, and with dignity. The morning of the day he died I told my mother there were angels in the room. I was VERY lonely that morning, and the Lord knew I needed an extra something. I could see the angels with my spirit, not my eyes. That has not happened to me before, or since then -- it was a special "I love you" from Jesus! There was an angel on the foot of my Dad's bed, waiting to take him home. There was one in the far corner -- that was my angel -- and I felt there was an angel with my mother and another one with my sister.

I had great peace all that day. Great sorrow, but great peace.

So, Daddy, I can't believe you've been gone ten years. I feel your absence often and still cry when certain things spark a memory. I can't wait to see you and to never be separated again.