"Call me anytime." It was how all my phone calls ended with Daddy, usually the sentence just prior to the "I love yous" that substituted "goodbye".
Though I never said it, I often thought "YOU call ME!" because I wanted him to want to call me, to be the initiator. The thing is, I was busy with work, then a husband then a bunch of babies and life in general, and I'm sure he thought it was easier and more convenient for me to call him. I wonder if I ever gave him the feeling he was interrupting Something Important. I hope not.
Had Lewy Bodies disease not pillaged my father's mind, crippled his body, and chauffeured him to the grave two years ago, he would have been 77 today. His birthday has always trumpeted the advent of Fall to me, I suppose it's some sort of Pavlovian response to the actual autumnal equinox occurring just prior.
I can't remember the last birthday I celebrated with him in person and at the moment that bothers me; was a one-way, three hours drive really not worth it? He wasn't one to make a big deal out of his birthday and he'd discouraged me from coming, and his genuine, pleased response to a phone call indicated that really was all he wanted.
To be remembered.
I get that.
The other day I was walking into a store and I was stopped dead in my tracks: an elderly gentleman walking out of the store could have been my father. Never have I seen someone who so closely resembled him–his thinning gray hair, his olive complexion, his slightly softened stature, eye glasses with smudges…and a vacant expression that signaled he wasn't fully present. I wasn't prepared for this chance encounter and I couldn't help staring through the rain in my eyes. I wanted to speak to him, a kindness to a familiar stranger, but my feet were anchored and my heart was lodged in my throat. I watched him as he shuffled to the parking lot.
It was the first reminder his birthday was this week and I could hear him over the din of busy shoppers and subversive grocery store Musak…
"Call me anytime…."
And because I can't…I write…to remember….
Because that mattered to him.
And now the tears are streaming through my hands! I re established a relationship with my dad this year (after a 13 year estrangement) and I am so thankful I have. God has blessed us. Thank you for this post- I will treasure every moment I have with him.
I can relate, but it was with my grandmother. I was stubborn & didn’t want to be the one always calling her when I was a teenager. Now, I would live to hear her voice just one more time. My Daddy’s gone, too, but I was always quick to call him. He was my hero & my best friend. I’m praying for you today. I know birthdays are always hard.
Beautiful writing, Robin. You caught on computer just what goes through my mind every once in a while. My daddy’s birthday, Sept. 1st, always says hello to fall for me, too. It’s been 12 years since he moved to heaven, but I catch glimpses of him here and there. Thanks for sharing your heart.
~Lilbear
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and emotions so well, as always.
I love these posts, where you write so so well. Where you make me feel like time spent reading when I should be doing the mundane can be sacred.
You have blessed me with your heart, thank you.
What a beautiful tribute to your father and reminder to the rest of us to treasure our parents while we still have them.
Thanks for yet another beautiful, heart touching post!
CathyT
I hear you, darling. I lost my birthmom about 2.5 years ago and I miss her so. I also lost my grandfather “Pappy” just a couple of weeks ago on Labor Day. We grew distant in the last 16 years and I wanted him to want me to call him, but he didn’t. His pain wouldn’t allow him to let me in again. But I’m not responsible for that. I still love him and miss him like I did when I was the little girl on his lap. I only wish he let me in so I could have told him one last time.
Thanks, Robin, for reminding me again of my sweet Daddy who passed away about 8 years ago! Like you, I long to hear his voice, to smell him, to enjoy his quick wit and humor, to catch a glimpse of him gazing at the Christmas tree every single year saying, “This IS the prettiest tree we’ve ever had!” Oh, to have one more chance to tell him how much I love him! The last blessing we enjoyed was all of us (my mom, 2 sisters, my husband, my children and me) standing around his hospital bed, ushering him into the Kingdom by singing accapello his favorite hymn “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”. Thinking about and praying for you this day! You are a blessing!
good on ya, Robin…nice way to honor him. 🙂
Wonderful writing, as usual, Robin. Makes me want to drive right over to my parents’ house & give my Daddy a big hug & tell him I’ll always be his girl.
And now I have tears. This was beautiful. I know the missing him must hurt so much.
I just found your blog yesterday – and it couldn’t have come at a better time. This post really spoke to me. My dad and I aren’t that close, mainly because I want him to make a little effort. But maybe I’m the one who needs to step up.
Thank you. It’s wonderful to remember, especially at the most unexpected times.
You can be so poignant. I’ll bet there is a stellar novel lurking somewhere in you. Not the ubiquitous throw away pulp, but an actual work of literary art. Thank you once again for enriching our lives.
I love you.
You just said something so pretty.
It has been such a privilege meeting you in person…and I will squish-hug you next time I see you.
<3 sarasophia
I hope you remember all kinds of good stuff this weekend about your daddy — praying for you
That was good. My father passed away two years ago on July 27. His birthday was August 27 and he was 77 when he died. Now his birthdays are silent reminders and at various times I am reminded of him and sometimes brought to tears. Like now. But I know he’s in heaven and that makes me happy.
we are starting through this with my sis-in law. Her kids have pretty much written her off — which leaves her brother (my husband) the one who takes responsibility.
So I’m very involved with this disease and trying my best — but it is so frustrating. I have to admit that sometimes I feel she does things on purpose, even though the disease is the cause.
Almost made me cry right here in the middle of the Type-A Mom Conference. Thank you for reminding me appreciate those who are in my life, for as long as they are around, and after.
Thank you!
I am off to call my Dad!
Oh I can totally relate. I lost my precious dad two years ago. Just recently I was in a store and saw a man that, at first glance, looked just like my dad.
It totally was amazing how much he resembled him. I wanted to go up and give him a big hug but knew it would not be my daddy’s arms around me.
He is with the Lord now but I miss him still!
As always, beautiful post, Robin.
Having just read Donald Miller’s new book, I must say that you’re living some really great stories — and writing them down.
I highly recommend the book, incidentally. I think you will love it.
Hi Robin,
You really hit the nail on the head again, didn’t you? I can’t help but think your dad is out there, proud of you and sending all his love.
When the mind falters, it IS frustrating. Sometimes you get moments of
lucidity…and then poof! Nothing seems to make sense. I hate that this
falls to you and your husband, Pamela…I know the weight of responsibility
(maybe the kids will “come back”??). {{HUGS}}
Ah…Colleen, I saw this comment while I was there, but couldn’t reply (go
figure). I had forgotten you read this! I’m grateful little things like
this can serve as a reminder to savor special people in your life :).
Know what? That THRILLS me! (I hope you were able to reach him!!) 🙂
Maybe God gives us those little glimpses to encourage us? Help us
remember? Who knows?? I hope you remembered good times in that moment :).
Hehe, I’m reading it now ;). (xo to you!)
I wish he had been able to read my blog when his mind was intact…he never
knew it existed.
{How ARE you? Egads, I have GOT to read my OLD blog friends! Ummm, not
that YOU’RE old 😉 !! )