16 posts tagged “father”
Two things happened this past week the left me kind of sad. First, my oldest son, who is seventeen, swam in his last swim meet. He made the regionals which were held in Tallahassee and we were holding out hope that he would make state, but even though his times were good, they just weren't good enough to move on.
My wife and I have known that it was going to be a sad day ever since the swim season first started. We've been going to his meets for the past three years and we have made some pretty good friends with the kids and their parents, not to mention the coaches as well. Donna took tons of pictures and we cut out every article that was in the paper, but when the last meet was finally over it left us feeling empty knowing that it was all done.
Now, he is playing soccer. Again, we are going into it with excitement, but with trepidation too, knowing that it is his senior year. I'm just not ready for another one of my kids to graduate high school.
The second thing that happened was more on a personal level for me. The regional swim meet was on Friday, so the team went to Tallalhassee on Thursday to spend the night. My wife got the day off and went with the team (I couldn't get the day off, but managed to leave work around 2:00 and get there for the finals). This left me and my youngest son, who is thirteen, at home by ourselves on Thursday night.
Every time in the past when my wife had to go somewhere overnight my son would be all excited because he could sleep with me. To be honest, I like it too. I know he is growing up and to have him ask to sleep with me somehow makes me feel like he is still little.
Anyway, when bedtime came around he didn't make mention of sleeping with me. It sounds selfish, but a part of me was crushed over that. In an instant I suddenly realized that my youngest child was no longer... well, a child. When I went to bed that night I went with a heavy heart.
My kids are growing up and I can't do a thing to stop it.
Preston Walters rolled his eyes and sighed heavily as warm air started coming from the air conditioning vents. This always happened when he was in the car line; it was one of the reasons that he hated picking Misty up from school. He shut the air off and pushed down on the electric window buttons. The front, passenger window glided down with ease, but the other three stayed put. He slammed down on the buttons with his fingertips repeatedly, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but the windows didn’t budge. By the time he got to the pick-up point he was soaked with sweat and totally frustrated. Misty saw his car and started jumping up and down, waving excitedly. When the all clear signal was given she ran to the window and shrieked, “Hi Daddy!” In a sour voice he uttered, “I’m hot. Just get in the car so we can get out of here.” She opened the door and jumped in, throwing a pink book bag in the floorboard. Totally oblivious of his bad mood, she said, “I like it when you pick me up Daddy.” Preston looked her way, forced a smile and lied. “So do I Honey. So do I.” Misty talked non-stop all the way home, going into great detail about every minute of her day. Preston simply drove and half listened, offering an obligatory, “Really?” or, “You don’t say?” during the rare quiet moments. When they reached the house Misty jumped out as soon as the car stopped. Before he could even get out of the car she was bursting through the front door. As he watched her run inside he could hear her small, excited voice, “Mommy, Mommy! Guess what I did today?” Preston sighed and leaned over to pick up the book bag. Later on that day, while walking to the garden, he relived his drive home with Misty. He didn’t like the way that he felt toward his six year old daughter, but he just couldn’t seem to get over it. Misty was their third child and the only one that wasn’t planned. In fact, she was a total surprise, coming nine years after Tiffany and eleven years after Jack, now a senior in high school. He thought about having one child ready to graduate while another was just starting out. He suddenly felt tired… and very old. He stopped at the gate and looked out onto the garden. This was his favorite place to be, his silent escape from life. He spent at least thirty minutes a day here pulling weeds, picking off bugs, looking for new growth and just enjoying the time outside. It always helped him get his mind straight. His eyes moved to the end of the garden. There, completely covering the fence was the plant that had become the central point of his backyard getaway. He had found it about a month before, one little leaf poking out of the ground at the end of the bean row. He had started to pull it up, but it looked like a squash plant, so he left it where it was. He checked it almost daily and the little plant seemed to take on a life of its own. Before long it had put out large green leaves and Preston decided that it was a pumpkin. Then, it started branching out with long, wispy tendrils that reached out and took hold of the fence. One day he looked in on it and a beautiful white flower had opened up. There, attached to the flower, was a small green fruit shaped like an hourglass. He knew then what it was; it was a gourd. Disappointed, he thought about pulling it up. It was, after all, in the bean row. Besides, you can’t even eat gourds. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He enjoyed watching it too much. So, he left it where it was and every day since then he had rushed out to the garden to check on it. He spent a lot of time manipulating the vines so they would grow up the fence and it had practically covered every square inch of it. He was amazed how something that started out so small could grow so quickly. Preston was still admiring the gourd plant when he felt something brush against his leg. He looked down and saw Misty. Her small hands were holding onto the chain link gate and her face was pressed up against it so that one eye was staring through a rusty link. She only said five words, “I like your garden Daddy,” and then she looked up at him and smiled. Then, as quickly as she was there, she was gone. Preston watched her skip away and a disturbing thought crossed his mind. Misty was, in fact, just like his precious gourd plant. The gourd plant came up unexpectedly; so did Misty. The gourd plant showed up in the wrong row; Misty showed up in the wrong part of his life. He was disappointed when he found out what the gourd plant really was; he was disappointed when he found out his wife was pregnant with Misty. His heart melted as he thought about Misty. Was he treating this gourd plant better than he was treating his own daughter? How much time had he actually spent with her, talking to her, really listening to what she had to say? Was it possible that he was holding a grudge against her for coming along so late in his life? Was he actually blaming her for some of his marital and financial problems? The more he meditated on it the more he shamefully realized that it was all true. He thought a moment and then looked back toward the flowing plant at the end of the garden. He had been so wrong about that plant. In a matter of weeks, with a little care and nurturing, it had become the centerpiece of his garden. What if he would have pulled it up when it was just coming out of the ground? He would have never gotten to watch it grow or see it bloom. He would have missed out on so much. What was he missing out on with Misty by acting the way he was? A sound shook him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Misty running across the yard with her arms held straight out to the side of her body. She turned and waved, “Come play with me Daddy.” Preston looked at his garden, then back at Misty. He could almost hear the gourd plant silently pleading with him to step inside the gate. There was a moment of indecision. Then, somewhere in the back of his mind a distant voice spoke to him, Go play with her. He spoke out loud, in answer to the voice, “But what about the garden?” The voice answered back, Are you raising a garden or are you raising a daughter? The question shocked him and he was still thinking about it when Misty called out to him again, “Come on Daddy, play with me. Please?” She stopped right in front of him, arms still extended, making bubbly airplane noises. Then, she stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his legs and said, “I love it when we play together Daddy.” Suddenly the garden didn’t look so enticing and he found himself leaning over to hug her back. With a slight tremor in his voice he said, “So do I Honey. So do I.” And this time, he really meant it.
I got up early this morning to review my Sunday School lesson and as I was sitting in the computer room I heard a low "Mmmmmm" sound. I thought it was the cell phone on vibrate, but it didn't happen again so I ignored it. About ten minutes later I heard it again. This time, I got up and looked for my wife's cell, but when I found it there were no missed calls.
I sat back down and started to read some more when the dog started barking. I jumped up and opened the front door, quietly telling him to get out of the house before he woke everyone up. As I closed the front door and turned around I found the source of the weird sound. Staring at me through the glass panes of the back door was a large, red cow.
I made it to the back door and looked out to find a total of three cows on the back porch and at least five more in the back yard. I flung the door open to run them off the porch and promptly stepped my bare foot into a large, wet cow patty. The cows stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do until I reached over and picked up a mop that my wife had leaned against the back wall to dry.
Like a ninja on the war path I started running at the cows who immediately turned and ran into the yard. I must have looked ridiculous chasing around after them while wearing my palm tree sleeping shorts and a t-shirt, screaming like a banshee and swinging the mop over my head. To top it off, as I was going after them, I was trying to run and drag my foot through the grass in an attempt to scrape off the cow crap.
In my heightened adrenaline state I managed to get all of the cows back into my parent's field (my nephew had left the gate open ) and then I went back to our house to survey the damage. Cows are clumsy creatures and they will knock anything over that is standing up. Every potted plant that was on the back porch was sitting on its side and there was cow manure everywhere. If I didn't know better, I would think they all purposefully waited until they got in my back yard to do their business.
Needless to say, my nephew got to bring his shovel over to remove the odorous gifts. Then, I broke out the pressure washer and gave the back porch a good cleaning.
Animals - I just love them (not!)
Read more of my animal stories below:
And still a few more that include...
Cutting open a dead cow.
Wrestling a crazy sheep.
Carrying two goats to the market in the front of the truck.
Participating in an old fashioned rat killling.
I originally posted this back when I first started writing on VOX last year. Since then, my son turned 16 and he has gotten somewhat better with his converstion skills, but every once in a while my wife and I will have to revert back to translating.
My fifteen-year-old son has a language of his own. We call it “grunting”. I’m not quite sure when we passed from conversations to guttural noises. However, my wife and I have learned how to understand him. For example, the grunts for yes and no sound close to the same, but the trained ear can pick out the difference. A double grunt combined with a slight shoulder shrug means, “I don’t know”. And don’t forget the triple combination of sigh, eye roll and snort that translates into, “This is so stupid” (well, that one actually has a couple of meanings, but we’ll go with that one).
I have often wondered if I am really getting through to him. Sometimes I can be strict and I know he doesn’t get to do a lot of things that he would like to do. I am not an ogre, but I do try to steer him in the right direction.
This morning, when I got up for work I got an answer to that question. I found a note above the stove addressed to me. It was a note from my son thanking me for helping him with his homework and telling me that he loves me. I have to say, it was very much unexpected. It’s not like him to do something like this. It made my day though and I am glad that he took the time to write it. I hope he knows that it really meant a lot to me. Maybe when he gets home from school I’ll walk up and give him the single grunt, head nod, punch in the arm that means, “I love you too”.
It was a nice day and we decided to take a family walk down our dirt lane. The lane runs beside a 30 acre tract of land where a local farmer keeps his cows. We were walking beside the cattle field when we noticed a cow on the verge of giving birth. She was standing up and we watched as the delivery took place. Like a sack of potatoes, the calf came out and plopped to the ground. After that, the mother walked away as if nothing had happened. Normally, the mother cow cleans the calf off and then gently urges it to stand up, but this one didn't. Left where it was, on the ground and still in the birth sac, the calf would soon die.
My wife, knowledgeable in animal birth from our own experiences with goats, saw the calf was in danger right away. On the other hand, I was standing there dumb and happy, totally oblivious when she startled me with, "We've got to get it out of the sac!"
From the panic in her voice I knew something was wrong and I listened as she quickly explained the danger. She wanted to go out into the field, but there were a few obstacles in our path and, as often seems to be the case in times of animal emergencies, the job fell on me.
I climbed the cattle fence, crawled through the barbed wire fence and gently stepped through the underbrush and briars until finally making it to the fallen calf. The fact that I was wearing shorts and was barefooted made it just a tad difficult (and painful). After finally getting there, she yelled instructions to me from the fence line.
First, I had to break the sac open and clean around its mouth and nose. I swept my fingers inside of the mouth to clean out anything that might be blocking the airway. I won't go into detail other than to say it was slimy and disgusting. After that, the calf was not breathing.
Next, I picked it up by the legs and swung it back and forth, trying to clear out its lungs and force it to start breathing. That didn't work either.
Finally, my wife yelled out, "You have to give it mouth to mouth!"
To which I responded, "What??!!"
"You have to get some air into its lungs!"
It was at this point that I regretted suggesting a walk down the lane. I really had no desire to put my mouth on the mouth of a calf that still had fresh afterbirth all over it. I yelled back, "And how am I supposed to do that?"
"Cup your hands together, put them over its nose and blow!"
That didn't sound quite so disgusting, but it still wasn't something that I wanted to do, but the cries and pleas from my family on the fenceline convinced me that that I had didn't have a choice. I cupped my hands, placed them into position and started blowing. To my surprise, it worked. It wasn't long before the calf was breathing and moving around. About this time the mother strolled over as if to say, "Thanks for doing the dirty work, but I'll take it from here," so I backed away and she started taking care of her baby.
When everything seemed to be clear, I tip-toed back through the briars and underbrush, crawled through the barbed wire fence and then over the cattle fence to my excited family where I received a hero's welcome (just call me Mouth to Mouth Calf Resuscitation Man). After basking in my fifteen minutes of fame, however, I went home, brushed my teeth and took a long, hot shower.
We are planning a family camping trip and I was reminded of an event that took place a few years ago when we went camping at Weeki Wachee Springs. I described the event in one of my very first blog entries entitled "The Jump" and I was going to just copy and paste that part of the entry, but I have decided to go ahead and repost the entire entry. It's kind of long, so I will go ahead and put the part I was going to paste in bold italics so you can scan down and read only that if you wish.
The rain came down slowly, but no one seemed to mind. For the most part, it had been a sunny three-day weekend at Big Pine Key campground near Key West, so a little rain while we were packing up to leave was just fine. I stopped what I was doing for a moment and stared at the black and gray clouds as they passed quickly over the short, choppy waves. My son and I had just spent a great weekend of fishing, snorkeling, and camping. It felt good to spend time with him. He was sitting at the picnic table and he seemed distracted, obviously in a world of his own. I walked over to him and asked, “What’s on your mind, son?”
To my surprise, he answered, “Dad, I want to jump off the bridge before we go.”
Our tent had been set up right beside a small canal leading out into the ocean. Just beyond the entrance to the canal was an old bridge. It had been abandoned and put out of service so a higher, safer one could be built. In order to allow boats to pass under it, a large portion of the old bridge had been cut away. This left a perfect spot to jump off the thirty-foot high platform into the warm, salty water below. The other two teenagers with us had jumped off the bridge quite a few times, but my son never mentioned a desire to follow suit. In fact, it never even crossed my mind that he would because he was never one to take chances. I tried not to act surprise and asked, "Are you sure?"
“Yeah Dad, I’m sure.”
Thinking quickly, I yelled over to one of the other teenagers on the trip, “Hey Evan, you want to jump off the bridge?”
“I don’t think so, I just got my finger wrapped up.” I forgot that he had cut his finger badly the night before.
“How about you John?”
“No, I don’t really feel like it.”
I looked back at my son and saw the disappointment in his face. He spoke to me in a quiet voice, “You can jump with me Dad.”
Immediately my muscles tensed up. The last time I had tried to jump into the water from a high distance was a few years earlier when the whole family went to Weeki Wachee Springs. We had stopped the boat along the river where an oak tree hung over a deep spot. Evan and his dad, David, immediately scaled the tree and jumped into the water. Not wanting to be left out, I climbed up the wooden slats and made my way to the place where hundreds of other jumpers had obviously stopped many times before. Right between two large limbs that branched out to the left and right, there was a naturally formed platform. It was the ideal location for jumping into the icy water below. I stood there for a few seconds and stared at the quickly moving water below. Before long, my head started to swim and I started to wonder what I was trying to prove. I was brought out of my stupor by cheering voices below. Everyone was yelling for me to jump, but my mind was telling me to climb back down the tree. Feeling a bit uneasy, I sat down on the platform and let my legs dangle in the air. That only proved to increase my uneasiness. I’m not sure how long I debated it, but I finally made up my mind to jump. With all my courage summoned up, I pushed off the tree. Almost immediately, I changed my mind, and attempted to grab onto the limb that was extended out to the right. My body swung sideways and I felt the rough bark of the oak tree as it scraped my arms. Unfortunately, my muscles were no match for the entire weight of my body and the law of gravity quickly proved itself. It wasn’t like I fell from the limb; it was more like I was flung from it. I flew off the limb and never managed to straighten myself out, smacking into the water with the right side of my body. The pain was like a thousand needles piercing my skin all at the same time. I came out of the experience with some scrapes on my arms, a massive red mark on my side, and a bruised ego. It was however, one of the most laughed about things from the trip... and still is to this day.
I had no plans to repeat this scenario and once again asked Evan and John if they would jump with my son. The answer still came back no. I thought about the situation that was in front of me. This was a monumental moment in the life of my child. He had never wanted to take a risk like this before. Was I going to squelch his spirit because of my own fears? I looked at him and saw the anticipation in his eyes. Right then, I knew what I had to do.
David took us out to the bridge in his boat. He pulled up close to it and then we stepped onto the wet concrete. We both held onto the sides and slowly made our way to the top. Once we got there, I turned around and saw that David had pulled the boat to the other side of the channel to get a better look. The bridge itself was about twenty feet wide. There was probably fifteen feet from where we were standing to the end of it. The tide was going out and I could see the strong current as it moved the dark water swiftly out to sea. With a panicky feeling in my chest, I asked him one more time if he was sure he wanted to jump. To my dismay, he said yes.
There was a brief moment of silence as we faced the water and surveyed the scenery in front of us. Finally, we came up with a plan. We would stand on different sides and at the count of three both of us would take off running and jump at the same time. He got on the left side and I got on the right. We got into position and I started counting. “One”. My heart began to pound and I could see him out of the corner of my eye as he stood there anxiously. Even with the rain that was falling, I felt a small bead of sweat break out and run down my eyebrow. My throat began to swell up and I started gearing myself up for the jump. “Two”. Suddenly, I saw him take off running. Before I even knew what happened, he had bolted to the end of the bridge and jumped off, splashing into the moving water below. In what seemed like a second, he was swimming out to meet David at the boat. I shook my head in disbelief and did what any sensible father would do. I clenched my fists together, threw them in the air and yelled “Woo Hoo!” Then, without hesitation, I carefully walked back down to the bottom of the bridge, jumped in the water and then swam out to the boat to congratulate him. When I got there, he was beaming with excitement and insisted on doing it again. This time, he was happy and willing to climb to the top by himself.
It’s true, I never jumped off the bridge, but I learned a valuable lesson that day. I couldn’t make the jump for my son, but I had a big part in getting him to the place he needed to be in order to accomplish the task. He would not have jumped if I hadn’t taken the time to climb up to the top of the bridge with him. Because of that, he was able to overcome his fears and do something that he never would have done before. The bad thing is that I tried to pawn it off on someone else. As parents, we need to remember that children need us to support them and believe in them. We have a responsibility to lead them to the places in their lives where they can take off and accomplish great things. Unfortunately, some of us are too scared or too busy and we end up allowing someone else to step in and do the job for us. I never want to look back and say that I wasn’t there for my kids. I always want to know that I did everything possible to help them grow into strong, responsible adults. Maybe… just maybe, one day I’ll ask my son to take me to the top of the bridge again. And this time we can jump off together.
I wanted to check the fluids in my wife's vehicle this past weekend, so I decided to get my 15 year old son involved. I haven't taught him a lot about taking care of a car, so I thought it was about time to show him a few things. I popped the hood and asked him if he knew how to check the oil. He said yes, so I told him to go ahead and check it. He reached over and pulled off the oil fill cap with confidence (which was plainly marked OIL), looked at the cap and then shrugged his shoulders. I knew at this point that he was clueless. So, I walked him through checking the oil, trans fluid, brake fluid, power steering fluid and the coolant. Then, we went to the back of the vehicle.
Now, I don't have jacks and stands and all of the fancy equipment that some guys have, so in order to check the gear oil, we had to crawl under the back of the vehicle on our backs. It's a Jeep Cherokee, so thankfully we had some crawl space, but it was still a tight fit. We scooted across the grass on our backs and finally made it to the differential. I showed him how to pop out the rubber stopper. I already knew it was low because there’s a small leak in the rear seal (one day I'm gonna fix that honey, really!), so I had the gear oil and the funnel under the car with us.
I don't know who designed Jeeps, but it is impossible to tilt the gear oil bottle so that any of the fluid will go into the differential. Having learned this the last time that I tried to add gear oil, I purchased a very long funnel that screwed onto the end of the gear oil bottle. This allows the bottle to be held farther away and opens up more room to tilt it up. Anyway, my son was holding the bottle just to the left of his head when he spotted a location to the right where he would have even more room to tilt it up. He asked me if he could move the bottle and I told him to go ahead, but to be careful moving it.
The tube-like funnel was stretched from the differential to his hand when he started to move the bottle. Just as it got over his head, the funnel came off of the bottle opening, immediately covering the left side of his face and filling his mouth with gear oil. I couldn't help but laugh out loud as it flowed down his cheeks, onto his hair and into his left ear. He was coughing and gagging the whole time, doing his best to hold the bottle at an angle that would prevent more from pouring out, and trying wipe his face at the same time. Luckily, none of it went into his eyes. In between bouts of laughter I helped him get the funnel reattached and we managed to finish the job.
He came out from under the Jeep pretty quickly, wiping his face with his shirt, spitting, coughing and hacking the whole time. To my surprise, he even managed to laugh about it and for just a moment I felt that we had spent some quality bonding time. Who would have thought that a little gear oil down the esophagus could draw a dad and his son together? He headed into the house to clean up, but even after a shower and brushing his teeth, he still smelled and tasted gear oil for the rest of the day, but I was glad that I asked him to help me.
I somehow managed to get her down the aisle. I can't say that I remember much of the walk except for the fact that I was trying really hard not to lose it.
My daughter wrote the following letter and the pastor read it at the wedding while we were standing arm in arm in front of him and her husband to be. She gave me the promise ring just before I kissed her and placed her hand in his. I am so proud of her for making this commitment and following through with it. It was such a special part of the ceremony.
"For this is the will of God, your sanctification; that is that you abstain from sexual immorality. That each of you know how to possess his own vessel in sanctification and honor” I Thessalonians 4:3-4.
Ever since I can remember, my parents have taught me what it means to be a vessel to God; that He is the only reason for living and that everything God has given us should be used to bring glory back to Him. When I was approaching my thirteenth birthday, my parents and I did a study together emphasizing that He also wanted us to serve Him with our bodies, by staying pure. I made a commitment on my thirteenth birthday to remain sexually pure until my wedding day, and my dad gave me a ring to wear to symbolize the promise I was making. I was promising to remain physically pure, but as I grew older I realized that being sexually pure includes mental and emotional aspects as well. I want to thank my parents for encouraging me to follow through with that promise and always keeping me accountable. It was a commitment that I am so happy that I made, especially as I stand here today beside my soon to be husband, and am able to say that he will be my one and only. I am so grateful that God gave me two such wonderful parents to be Godly examples to me, and that have guided me and encouraged me to be all that God wants me to be. I look up to them more than they will ever know. I am giving my dad back this ring, not as a symbol that I always did things perfect, and not that I am some flawless person, but as a symbol that I have remained true to the promise I made seven years ago to my parents, to God and to my future husband to keep myself sexually pure. I want my life to reflect nothing but God’s grace and love, and I have always hoped this day would bring Him nothing but glory, my parents nothing but pride, and my husband nothing but happiness. I hope I have accomplished this goal. Thank you mom and dad for making this day so wonderful.
The wedding went off without any problems and was absolutely beautiful. I even managed to escort her down the aisle without crying, although the lip was trembling a few times. I looked down the aisle on the way and saw my wife smiling at me with tears in her eyes. I almost lost it then, but still managed to hold it together. I touched her hand as I passed by and we shared a special moment. Neither one of us said anything, but I felt it. It was like we both said, "Everything will be alright." And everything was alright. From the beginning music at the wedding to the reception and everything in between, all was perfect. Hopefully, I can get some pictures up soon.
When it came time for the father/daughter dance I was ready. Tim McGraw's "My Little Girl" played while I held my daughter on the dance floor. It was all worth it when she looked up at me and said, "Thanks for everything Daddy, I'm so happy." It was obvious that she was too. I watched her flit and flutter for the rest of the reception and it was easy to see that she was more happy than she had ever been in her life. I guess that's when I was finally able to let go. My little girl now has a new man and he has promised to love her and take care of her for the rest of his life. I have absolutely no doubt that he will do that and I wish them both all the happiness in the world.
Well, the months of planning are almost over. Tomorrow afternoon at 4:00, my daughter will be getting married. I didn't post yesterday because we have been so busy, but I wanted to write something today, so I have decided to re-post my very first blog entry. It is something that I wrote a year after my daughter first left for college. It holds even more meaning now.
A FATHER'S TEARS
There was a deafening silence as I stood in my daughter’s bedroom. I looked around at all of her belongings that were still in place. I turned my attention to the many pictures that were hanging on the walls and especially to the ones that were sitting on the dresser. I looked at each one slowly and methodically. As I did, a lump began to swell in my throat. Without warning, my eyes filled with tears and I stood there, crying like a baby. We had taken her to college three days before, but now, for the first time, as I stood in her bedroom, reality finally started to sink in. Thoughts began to race through my head, thoughts that I did not like.
Is she gone for good?
Will she come back and live with us again?
Will we still have that special father/daughter relationship that we had before?
My ears pounded from the silence and hot tears raced down my cheeks. I stood there as long as I could, but finally had to turn and leave. I walked through the house, a house that now seemed dead and lifeless, and found my wife sitting at the computer. She looked up at me, a little surprised to see me standing there in tears. With a voice that was crackled and full of emotion, I managed to utter the question, “Why did she have to leave us?” We fell into each other’s arms and both of us sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like an eternity.
My daughter has been away for over a year now, but that feeling of emptiness still lingers on. I had one well-meaning father tell me he didn’t miss his daughter any more; that after the first year he was finding he liked it better that she was gone. It’s hard for me to believe that I could ever feel that way. In fact, I don’t want to feel that way. How can any father be happy that his daughter is miles away and no longer a daily part of his life? Maybe I’m just too emotional. It could be that I’m over protective. Quite possibly, I’m just a little bit psychotic. One thing is for certain, I love my daughter and I would do anything for her.
Sure, I’m happy for her. I’m glad she has new friends and is planning her future. I only want the best for her and would never want to stand in the way of anything that God has planned for her. But that doesn’t keep me from missing her. I miss seeing her and hearing about her day. I miss watching movies with her and making fun of her when she jumps at the surprising parts. I miss the joy and excitement that she brings to our house. Most of all, I miss hearing her voice as she says, “Hey Daddy.”
Will I ever get used to her being away from home? Probably not. Will I ever stop missing her? Definitely not! Do I wish she were still here with me? Of course I do. But I’m learning to adjust. I’ll never be happy that she is gone, but I can be happy that she is doing what she is called to do. I can take pleasure in the times she comes to visit and give her lots of love and encouragement. After all, she’s my daughter and I love her with all my heart (more than chocolate covered cherries).
