A Letter To Daddy

I have had time to reflect in the hours since the phone call this morning - I imagine I will spend a good deal of time doing that from now on.

Yes, Daddy, there is deep sadness inside of me and has been since that call. But tucked in among the folds of hurt is the knowledge that at long last your hands no longer hurt, you no longer feel pain. You are at peace. I know that Mama and John were there to meet you as you crossed. And Gram and Grandad were at their side - all to welcome you home.

Oh, God! Daddy, I am going to miss you so very much! But not for the world would I have held you here to suffer further.

I want you to know that these past few years have been a gift from God and a treasure to my heart. I will forever have the memories we made. There are so many special moments I can look back upon. The trip to Denali where you woke me early and we two sat by the fire and drank camp coffee and talked. The time when I knew that Margaret was ailing and I knew you wouldn't ask for help - you were way too proud for that. It was only that you mentioned that you were now doing all the cooking and somehow I knew - I just e-mailed you - "Dad, I know you are a proud man and will never ask for help - but if you need it all you have to do is tell me the tea is on and I will be there." I came home one day and there it was - just a simple note - "The tea is on." And I packed up and came home. Within a month you had lost your second wife - another phone call I will never forget - the sound of your voice - the loss, the hurt, as if you were wandering not knowing quite where you were.

After I moved to Seattle, there were other calls. You were so funny, Dad. You never said you were lonely - it was just the invitation - "Just me and Tuffy at home." I'd laugh -"Want some company, Dad?" The teasing in your voice - "Aaaww, that doesn't sound like too bad a deal, ya know." I'd call coming through Olympia and when I arrived you had a fresh pot of tea on the table with two cups - the white cup with Rocky - Great Northern Railroad - and the dark blue cup with Alaska on it - both of them gifts I had given. You never served me tea in anything other than the Alaska mug.

We'd talk - share work stories and after dinner play a three game cribbage tournament. Best two out of three - tho you were good, the cards sometimes seemed tipped in my favor. Even then your hands hurt so bad you couldn't shuffle and deal the cards and I didn't mind doing it all the time. When my attention was turned to this task, you'd move your peg up on the board and when I noticed you'd chuckle and remark - "I gotta do something! Seems I need a head start the way you been playing!" Or you'd slip something under your end of the board and tilt it - "Gotta try some drastic moves here, maybe a down hill running start will help me out!" Or another time you'd act as if you were looking for something and when I finally asked, there was that twinkle in your eye - "Lookin for something to grease my end of the board with!" Or yet again you'd grab a napkin and start polishing your side of the board and when I asked what the heck you were doin - "Must be something sticky on this thing! I can't seem to get my pegs moving!" Always a chuckle - a twinkle of mischief in your eyes. Aw, you really enjoyed those evenings, too. It was a special time of bonding for you and I - making up for the long years we hadn't spent quality time together. Time when I lived in Alaska and didn't see much of the family. I missed having time like this with Mom. I treasured -and will always - every moment we shared.

All the times we went on road trips - the rest of the family worried that you shouldn't drive because you tended to get tired and nod. I watched you. I never saw a hint. But maybe it had something to do with the fact that I asked questions - about the railroad, the war, the ranch, Grandad. You - we - talked for miles and miles. I'll never forget the night we drove home from Vegas after Tam's wedding just a few short years ago. I expected you to nod off after the long day and excitement - as we climbed a 6,000 foot mountain pass slugging through drifts and blowing snow in near zero visibility. But you stayed alert and awake - every time I looked over you were watching the road - you talked - you encouraged me to keep going - you were my strength that night. You were amazing.

So many times I took a three day weekend to go off on a camp out with you. I admired the way you backed that airstream into camping ground spots. You taught me how to do it - encouraging, soft. I learned to hook it up. We spent evenings with others in your camping troop - fixing group meals, playing group games and finally turning in late with just a few moments of quiet in the trailer going over the evening.

The priceless hours we spent as I sat at your side and wrote the story of your life. Listening and asking questions to evoke your own memories and enhance the reality of you and your life in the story. Seeing the memories come to life and learning about the Father I had known for a life time and yet had not known so closely, so deeply.

Oh, so many, many memories, you have left me with Daddy. The ones I hold closest to my heart and treasure are the ones that hurt the most. Seeing you get up from your chair and call Tuffy to head for bed - "Come on, Tuffy, time to hit the hay, down the road to Mandalay." And that little black and white cat that you treasured so much came running from where ever he had been to precede you down the hall. You paused, I came over and kissed your cheek. You put a hand on my arm, a light and gentle pressure squeeze as you kissed my cheek and whispered "G'night. I love you." That twinkle in your eye - that good night or good bye kiss..... those........those..............are the treasures closest to my heart...................and Oh! How they hurt right now!

I know, even through all of the hurt, that you are home with loved ones in heaven. At home with Mom and John, and Gram and Granddad and Jesus. Home - at peace at last. Good night, Daddy. I love you.