Throwback Thursday: Who Do My Parents Think They Are Lookin' All Party-Cool?

In the early 1980's, my dad was stationed in Hawaii. We'd have friends & family come for a visit every once in a while.

My mom was not close to her family for most of her life (arguably any of it, considering the toxic home in which she lived). On this occasion, her older brother came to visit, accompanied by his lovely wife. 

I came across this photo of the four of them and I'm struck by how dapper my dad looks in that v-neck! WHO SAID YOU COULD LOOK LIKE THAT, DAD?! 

And that halter dress my mom's sporting! GIRL! 

THOSE TANS!

My Uncle and Aunt also looks so playful and relaxed! I want to use the word "festive" but that's not really the accurate descriptor....maybe convivial or snappy would be better?

I don't recall the events of this visit. I am going to ask my Aunt what she remembers about that trip to Hawaii.

Also -- can we talk about my mom's decor choices. What's with that capiz shell lamp and iron castle-style scrolly candle sconce? Did I ever tell you we grew up with a knight of triplefake armor in the house -- AS A DECORATION. It has a javelin or spear or whatever you call medieval weaponry.

I loved Hawaii. 

Learning Quarterbacks

Remember these? If you're a football fan, you likely had a set of these or know someone who owned a set. My brother had a set. The Dallas Cowboys was the coveted pencil, of course. The Houston Oilers might've been a distant second.

These pencils played a different role in my life.

I was able to use these pencils to learn the names of all - what were then - 28 teams of the National Football League.

The National Football League was the entertainment my dad most enjoyed, it seemed. I'm sure his life was more exciting that watching dudes scrap around some field over a pigskin, and his interests more varied than that, but to his young daughter, the Sunday event of watching football as much as possible from any area in the word to which he was stationed, these were a key to a connection that sparked a life-long interest well into MY adulthood. Watching a Cowboys game in Germany was no easy feat back in the 70s! So you can see why this made such an impact on me.

I remember looking at the team names on each pencil and memorizing them. I'd look up where the cities were located. I then began learning the names of every starting NFL quarterback based on the team names I extrapolated from those two-toned, team-colors-reppin' sticks of wood and lead. I'd memorize a few (Staubach, Pastorini, Griese, Bradshaw....)  then go ask my dad for a few more (Morton, Whitehurst, Theisman, Stabler....). I don't know if he enjoyed the challenge or was annoyed by my inquisition, but I managed to get the names of each quarterback out of him. In retrospect, this was the first "memory" I have of "bonding" with Dad. 

Dad and I remained loyal Dallas Cowboys fans. Dad parted ways with them when Jerry Jones fired Tom Landry, but I manage to hang on, sometimes by a thread. I've grown into an avid football fan (I can do without college, though); I've played in and won a couple fantasy leagues, and I run the work One Pick. I'm no expert but I know enough to hold a more-than-casual conversation with a fellow sports nut.

Furthermore, a little giggle on my part: I noticed these pencils were made by Faber Castell. This is the same brand that My Little One buys for some of her sketches, anime drawings and other art work. A bit of a thread to bind us all together, wouldn't you say?

GO COWBOYS

Eighteen Years

Dear Dad,

I love you!

I'm writing to wish you a Happy REbirthday. It's a thing, right? I believe you are reborn in some everlasting way, so cheers! 

You died 18 years ago today, in body. I'll always know the number of years because it's the same as Boa's age. You should see her now, Daddy! She's glorious, wonderfully charming, intelligent, funny. She's just like you! Can you believe she'll be graduating this year? She's hoping to go to college in Colorado. *fingers crossed*

That Little One honors you in so many ways. She's keen and witty. She never met you, but she knows you, that's for sure! Just today, she told me a story of finding a penny, heads-up, on the desk next to hers at school. She recognized it was you saying hello to her! She loves you. You'd be so proud of her. 

How are things where you are now that Mom's with you? Probably a little noisier. hehe I'm imagining what that might look like. Are you two reunited? Are you lights in this galaxy? Would you be together in the same dimension? Or are you both apparitions, having drinks, listening to country music and talking about family like when you were amongst the physical living? Or am I writing to nothing, no one? 

I still have mom's ashes. She asked to be spread where you are, so that trip is coming up soon. For now, she resides with me. I talk to her sometimes. She helps me cook and bosses me about how I raise My Girls. She keeps me company when I'm home alone. 

I'm gonna wrap this up and take care of some things, Dad, but you are always with me. I'm always with you.

Miss you,
--Juliette

Music Minute: A Waltz

We're in 'Angelo at the Saddle Bronc. Burr and Dad are out back fryin' up catfish they caught themselves. 

Patrons -- more like a little quilt-like family of good ole Texans -- have all brought a side dish. It's a good ole fashioned potluck.

As it so happens, out behind the Bronc, along with the fish fryer, tables, a bottle of booze or two and several beers, an old-fashioned radio, is a retired tractor. Daddy, taking a cigarette break, sits up on the seat of that rusty tractor. He sits there, in his baseball cap, embering cigarette pinched between fingers as if holding a pencil. His eyes are closed. His arms are tan from days and days of fishin'. His jeans are old, worn and fit him perfectly. His foot is tapping to one of our favorite tunes that's just started on the radio: Waltz Across Texas.

I love this memory of my dad because, although he was a pretty laid-back guy, he looked very happy and at peace in that moment. 

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When we dance together my world's in disguise it's a fairyland tale that come true

And when you look at me with those stars in your eyes
I could waltz across Texas with you
Waltz across Texas with you in my arms waltz across Texas with you
Like a storybook ending I'm lost in your charms
And I could waltz across Texas with you

My heartaches and troubles are just up and gone the moment that you come in view
And with your hand in mine dear I could dance on and on
And I could waltz across Texas with you
Waltz across Texas

Written by Talmadge Tubb

Birthday 79

I ❤️ Dove Promises.

I ❤️ my dad.

Today is his birthday. 🎂

Today, I opened a Dove chocolate and this was the message inside the purple foil wrapper:

Here are a couple of my favorite quotes by my dad:

1. Incisions, incisions. (Tough Decisions)
2. That one fid dit. (Hollywood Gin)
3. I love you a bushel & a peck & a hug around the neck!

Love and miss you, Dad. Happy birthday!

Year Sixteen.....

Year Fourteen

Daddy,

Has it really been that long?

I guess so....

Where does the time go?

Fourteen years ago you winked in the wake of your death, leaving me a better woman than even the hour before you died.

I wish you were here.
Every.
Day.
In a way where I could laugh with you, play some cards and hug on ya. In a way where my kids can get your wisdom directly from you. But I will always be glad to carry that duty for you and mom. Always.

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Today one your favorite songs played:

There were seven Spanish angels at the Altar of the Sun
They were praying for the lovers at the Valley of the Gun
When the battle stopped and the smoke cleared,
There was thunder from the throne,
And seven Spanish angels, took another angel home.

Just thought I'd let you know I know.

Missing you,
Me

P.S. I found a penny on the train today. Thanks, Daddy. I love you, too.
~Juliette

Another One Without You

Today's My Dad's birthday.

I cried at church -- like I usually do.

While I knelt in prayer, reflecting on him, tears streaming warmth down my cold cheeks, the same smiling-from-the-white-light vision I had the day he died reappeared to me today.

I smiled.

He's well.

I quit crying.

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Love you, Daddy. Still. Always.

~Juliette

11/11/11

In the eleventh month....
On the eleventh day
On the eleventh hour

....give thanks.....

Thank you, veterans!

40 4 40: 28 - It Was A Wednesday

NOTE: Before you read this post, be advised that this is an extremely emotional post.  Today is the 10th anniversary of my father's passing, and I'm handling it with a myriad of emotions.  My post today offers glances into the impressive memories I still carry, and documents (perhaps imperfectly) certain parts of the chronology of My Dad's last days.  It is not meant to be a story of conversion or witnessing, or a testimonial about medicine, end-of-life care, etc.  It's not intended to stir up any kind of controversy.  It's simply me needing to release the power of the grief I carry, remember My Dad, and to give and receive love.

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The tiny, bright-eyed almost-four-month old little girl and I packed up our weekend necessities then packed into my little 1994 Acura Integra to make our weekly weekend jaunt to San Angelo from Dallas - about a five or six hour drive. 

The previous Christmas, My Father announced his decision to refuse any more cancer treatment (he had already endured 18+ months of it, and exceeded all life-expectancy projections).  Privately to him, I committed that I would bring My Baby and we would come see him each weekend.  My Baby was his first biological grandchild - his legacy.  I was determined that the two of them -- well, all of us -- would spend as much time together as possible before Fate punctuated it with a period.  Daddy told me at Christmas, "The doctors say I could live as long as six months or more, so no need to put yourself through all that stress." 

Daddy lived only six more weeks.  The Baby and I made it to San Angelo five out of those six weeks before he died.

I had an analog cellular phone back then.

I was just about to turn off I-20 onto Loop 206 at Cisco, when My Mom called.

"He's fallen! I can't get him up!"  Her voice was trembling, panicked and fear-filled.

I offered some advice, then told her I'd be out of pocket for a bit because of the lack of cellular service, but I'd get there as soon as I could and would call her once service was available again. 

When I arrived to the house, Daddy was off the floor and laying in their bedroom, a smile greeting me and My Baby.

A hospital bed - Daddy's death bed - was delivered and set up in the dining room of My Parents home that day. 

I did not believe in God that day.

That was Friday, February 3, 2001.

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Daddy gifted his sisters & me with a game of Hollywood Gin while savoring Blue Bell Banana Split ice cream. He insisted on keeping score. 

It was so hard to see him hold the pen to the paper and not make the symbols that his once quick-witted and very bright mind was envisioning.  Clearly, there was a disconnect between his reality and everyone elses.  It was pretty tricky, really, because his body made the movements that are so familiar: picked up the pen with his right hand, turned his eyes to the pad of paper, moved his hand to write, pressed down the tip of the pen to the paper.....  There was just never a number written on the paper - the pen locked between dyingofcancerbrain and every day action.

Yet, we all smiled, continued playing as if there was no cancer, as if there was nothing wrong at all, as if it were another holidayish get-together.  Our eyes did indeed shift back and forth, glances speaking fears and worries.  Daddy's eyes were bright and smiling. 

He had a good day that day.

Alas, it was his Last Hurrah, so to speak.  Sisters & friends who had been coming over throughout the day had all left for the evening - just Mom, Baby, Dad and me.  Daddy's condition deteriorated quickly as the dark of the night blanketed Texas.  He became immobile, difficult to understand and quite agitated when awake.  He communicated with his sinking and fading eyes, as well as grunts.  He would try to use his hands, yet his arms seemed weighted, wrists restrained.  There were no restraints, though. 

I was holding My Baby who was being very playful and occasionally fussy.  Daddy could hear her and his eyes would dart toward her voice.  At one time, his weak fingers motioned me over and his eyes looked at mine, then looked to My Eldest then to his chest.  He wanted me to put her on his belly.  So I did.  They were belly to belly.  She studied him, serious at times, looking to me for answers and assurance, then would break out into the biggest, brightest smile.  She offered it to me, and gave it to him.  His fingers reached to touch her.  I helped him reach up and put his hand on her back. A tear spilled out of outside corner of his eye and it meandered down his temple, over his ear until it was absorbed back into his body.

Talk about being so elated and so sad at the same time -- wow!  I was keenly aware of the magnitude of that moment in time.  It's still so raw for me....

I did not believe in God that day.

That was Saturday, February 4, 2001.

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Watching my now-unconscious Dad, in what I could interpret only as him walking backwards through his life, I remain wowed by the argumentative utterances, the grunts that seemed like laughter, unintelligible words that seemed so joyous in tone, or even commanding.  At times, he'd raise his arm and mimic a handshake.  Other times, both arms would raise and his hands would flail as if he were giving someone a hug.  Yet other times, his arms were postured as he held a rifle.

I wondered, sitting there in the sun on the powder blue loveseat, if Daddy was greeting friends on his walk into The Light.  Or, was he reconciling his heavy heart in some way? Is he hunting or in Viet Nam? Is he ordering soldiers? Is he arguing with my mom? Is he actually being reunited with friends, deceased Army buddies, his own father and mother?  WHAT is going on in that head of his?!  I realized how little I knew about My Father's life suddenly.  I suppose I know all that I need to know, though. 

He was on some sort of journey.

I comforted Daddy in every way except one.  I couldn't bring myself to do that part.  My Mother did it instead. I felt so helpless.  Mom was amazing.

I did not believe in God that day.  I didn't not believe, either.

That was Sunday, February 6th, 2001.

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My brother made his travel-to-Texas plans.

I read the pamphlet from Hospice which detailed the death process for cancer victims. I distinctly remember these words:  secretions, Cheyne Stoke breathing, eliminate.  The pamphlet also said, often, the sick person will have this ONE DAY where the person will seem to be his/her "old self".  I would say the Hollywood Gin day was that ONE DAY.

Hospice arrived because we called them when the secretions began.  Then, true to the pamphlet information, that creepy breathing began.  Having been enlightened and empowered with the medical process of a dying cancer victim, I honed in on watching for the signs.

A little later, My Baby was napping.  I'm still not sure where My Mom and all the other people were, but I had the gift of this moment alone with My Dad.  So I took the time to sit next to him.  I curled my fingers around his rough hand.  I could tell he was miserable.  I don't know how or what it was exactly, but I just new he was ready.  Was he holding on for My Brother to arrive?  I had heard about those folks who are dying that seem to wait for permission to die.  They hold on for something or someone and until there's some arrival or permission, the misery endures. 

I didn't want My Father to be in any more discomfort.

"Daddy, if you're waiting for My Brother, don't.  He will understand.  He knows.  If you need and want to go, then go.  We all love you."  Then I leaned over and kissed his knuckle.  "I love you." 

I sat there quietly for a few moments more until My Baby stirred awake.  I stood up from the bedside and scooped that Little Girl - the next in the Circle of Life - into my embrace, held her tightly against my bosom to the bedroom.  After changing her diaper, she and I danced down the hall to return to where My Dad was, and My Mom took My Baby from me, "Let me hold her.  The lady from Hospice needs to talk to you."

My Dad had just died.

Just like that -- less than ten minutes after our "talk" -- he was gone. 

One eye wide open, one eye mostly shut, his mouth agape and body hollow of soul, he was gone.

I exhaled.

Later that day, as I cried in the shower with my face pressed against the cold tile with the hot water soothing me, comforting me, a special gift was given to me.  It was from God.

I was converted at that moment; I came to believe.

That was Wednesday, February 7, 2001.

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You might notice that I changed the music.  The songs are:

• You Never Even Called Me By My Name (The Darlin' Darlin' Song) ~ David Allen Coe
• Don't It Make Your Brown Eyes Blue ~ Crystal Gayle
• Wasted Days And Wasted Nights ~ Freddy Fender
• She's Got You ~ Patsy Cline
• She Believes In Me ~ Kenny Rogers

This music reminds me of growing up, of My Dad, of times with him or things about him.  For example, the Freddy Fender song is My Parents wedding anniversary song.  The DAC song is one we'd play during The Bronc's world-famous fish fry get-togethers.  The whole inside of the bar and all the folks cooking and shooting bull on the outside of the bar would sing along.  SO! GREAT! 

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~ the lake where My Dad rests ~

Pearl Harbor

Kole Kole Pass

My Dad's birthday is today.  I can't let a year go by without acknowledging it, and reminding myself (and you) how much I miss him.

Thanksgiving, as you might recall, was his favorite holiday.  It's my favorite holiday, too. 

Twirling the two always puts me in a bit of bittersweet headspace.

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Last week, I received a message from a stranger on Facebook.  He had joined a group that I started about the elementary school I attended when I lived there.  (Us military brats kind of find a way to stay networked to a certain degree, I suppose.)  He reached out to me to ask when I was there, yadda yadda yadda.  I kept it pretty brief, but then he replied with additional questions.  As a result, I ended up sharing one of my very favorite moments of life.  As I was wrapping up my response to his inquiries, a thought scampered through my mind:  I should put this in a blog.

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When I was 20-ish, My Father was still active duty Army on the brink of retirement.  He had just been promoted to Master Warrant 5.  As a result, he was required to serve an overseas tour.  The choices, as I recall, were Alaska, Belgium and Hawaii.

Daddy made his selection for Hawaii. 

My Parents empty-nested at his departure.  My brother had just graduated college and was off to The Real World (not of the MTV-type, although I'm sure he wishes!  haha), and I was doing the same except I was sans degree since I was still in the middle of a semester as a college sophomore (and failing miserably at it).

My Parents gifted me a trip to visit them for Christmas, and I was able to stay through the new year.  I was looking forward to going because when I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to do the typical adult touristy things like visit the U.S.S. Arizona, go out in the nightlife, and so forth.  As a kid, though, I had THE BEST experience.

In fifth grade, the collective class saved newspapers and aluminum cans all year, and we'd earned enough money to take a class field trip to Hawaii a.k.a. the Big Island (I lived on Oahu, home of Honolulu & Waikiki Beach <~~ not double rainbows, but still pretty awesome).  The point of the week-long class trip was to learn in-depth about Hawaii's history:  the monarchy, how it was settled, the native dances, foods, customs and traditions, language, as well as have some outdoor adventures.  We hiked across Kilauea Crater, which was dormant at the time.  It was frightening for a chubby, short girl to cross over the wide gaps that were emitting steam, the firey cauldron sloshing below my not-so-confident feet.  We learned about Pele, the different kinds of lava (I always thought it was fun to say a'a) and sulfur.  I got to put my toes in the fine grains of a black sand beach.

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About the time of my adult visit to Hawaii, President Clinton ordered the closure of  several military bases . My Dad took me to a Naval base that was shut down, except it had one gate open, and it was a manned gate.  If you didn't have a military ID, you were denied access.

Daddy drove us cautiously up the mountain, the road curvy and laden with vegetation.  The banana trees leaned away from the mountain, and surprisingly, prickly pear cacti protected the mountainsides.  It was fairly early in the morning, rain had fallen as it did most days of my visit.The clouds were low and the air was so fresh.

Eventually, Daddy parked the car and invited me to the scenic overview.  I looked at Pearl Harbor  at the end of a valley.  I smiled just taking in the view, certain I had died and gone to Heaven.  Never had I felt so small.  It was just My Dad and I standing there in the quiet wonder.

When a good amount of time had passed, he said to me, "Do you know what this place is?"

I shook my head side to side and said, "Nu-uh. What is is?"

Daddy said, "This is the valley and path where the Japanese snuck in to attack Pearl Harbor."

In an instant, my heart hardened and I was overcome with emotion.  This place, so beautiful and awesome, truly awesome, then that bit of wicked U.S. history seared through the peace I just experienced, leaving me with a burning chest.  The physical response I experienced was unexpected.
 

I was so grateful my dad had access to take me there.  I am so grateful for that moment with him.  I'm humbled by the visit. 

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Happy birthday, Daddy.  Still miss you.  Still love you.  

xo

It's Almost Father's Day.... Again

I miss my dad every day.

Every day I miss my dad.

Penny in My Pants

When My Dad died, My Mom shared with me a little ditty and an accompanying custom they shared.  I am going to share it with you in words, and if you choose to exercise it in your own way, well, I think My Dad would be flattered.

My Dad told My Mom that after he passes away, whenever she sees a penny, to pick it up and know that it's him sending her a message that he's thinking about her from Heaven.

Sweet, huh?

So, since My Mom told me this story, I've adopted it. 

On my wedding day, I found a penny in the Bride's Room. 

When My Little One was born, I found a penny on the floor of my hospital room the day we were discharged.

After closing on my first house, I arrived full of pride, walking toward the door a penny sparkled in the dampness of the walkway.

There have been a few occasions of his birthday, Veteran's Day, or the anniversary of his death date that I've spotted a penny and smiled, or cried, or closed my eyes and exhaled.

Today, I was in a little car accident.  A woman didn't notice that I was at a stop drove right into the back of my leased car.  *cringe*  My Little One and I are fine, no injuries.  The driver who hit us is also fine.  It all worked out well and we are all safe.

After leaving to return to work, I cleaned up the spilled change, the flung pens and bags, returning everything neatly into their respective places. 

This is also the day that my department went out to lunch as a group to the Twisted Root (yum! still!) to belatedly celebrate those of us who have January birthdays (ahem!).  In a hurried pace toward the elevator office, I am swinging my shiny black coat around from one shoulder to the other when something glistening on my pant leg catches my eye.

I stop dead in my tracks, eyes fixated on this copper beaming from the cuff of my black capris.

I bend over and open the cuff.  Lo and behold....

....a penny in my pants!

I pulled it out and held it between my thumb and index finger for a few moments, feeling the details of Abraham on one side, the institution on the other.  I noticed the year printed on it is 2008.  All that noticing in a flash of a second, somehow swimming in the the comfort that My Dad was with me.  He protected me in the accident this morning and reminded me that he loves me, he's still with me and he wishes me a happy birthday.

Guess Which One Is Me?

I'd be the one in my mom's belly.  Figure about six months along.  This is a picture of my parents on their wedding day 39 years ago this month.  They got married in North Pole, Alaska.  Yeah -- THE North Pole.  Santa's house and everything supposedly.  Even though I was there, I can't remember it -- wild party and all.

My parents anniversary song is "Wasted Days & Wasted Nights" by Freddy Fender.  There's some story about when we lived in Germany this song was the only country tune on a jukebox there.  I'm sure there are more glamorous details....  Hopefully their days were wasted.  Being as my mom was pregnanty with me on their wedding day, the nights obviously weren't wasted.  *wink*

Happy Belated Anniversary, Mom and Dad. 

xo

I Just Can't Let It Go By...

...without acknowledging it.

Miss you, daddy.

Father[ing]

I was thinking of how I usually dedicate this day to my biological father. And while he's been foremost on my mind today, I did happen to take some time throughout the day to invoke the memories of other influential fathers in my life....and I need to acknowledge them today.

In my mind, there are lots of different fathers, father figures, fatherly ways, etc., so I went to one of my favorite online sources to find the definition of 'father':

• Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source
  fa·ther –noun
  
  1. a male parent.
  2. a father-in-law, stepfather, or adoptive father.
  3. any male ancestor, esp. the founder of a race, family, or line; progenitor.
  4. a man who exercises paternal care over other persons; paternal protector or provider: a father     to the poor.
  5. a person who has originated or established something: the father of modern psychology; the       founding fathers.6. a precursor, prototype, or early form: The horseless carriage was the father of the modern         automobile.7. one of the leading men in a city, town, etc.: a scandal involving several of the city fathers.8. Chiefly British. the oldest member of a society, profession, etc. Compare dean1 (def. 3).
  9. a priest.
  10. (initial capital letter) Theology. the Supreme Being and Creator; God.
  11. a title of respect for an elderly man.
  12. the Father, Theology; The first person of the Trinity.
  13. Also called church father. Church History. Any of the chief early Christian writers, whose     works are the main sources for the history, doctrines, and observances of the church in the  
         early ages.
• 14. Ecclesiastical. a. (often initial capital letter) a title of reverence, as for church dignitaries, officers of monasteries, monks, confessors, and esp. priests. b. a person bearing this title.
  15. fathers, Roman History. conscript fathers. –verb (used with object)
  16. to beget.
  17. to be the creator, founder, or author of; originate.
  18. to act as a father toward.
  19. to acknowledge oneself the father of.
  20. to assume as one's own; take the responsibility of.
  21. to charge with the begetting of. –verb (used without object)
  22. to perform the tasks or duties of a male parent; act paternally: Somehow he was able to               write a book while fathering.

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After reading the aforementioned, I smiled satisfactorily. Below is my list of 'fathers' I'm thanking and grateful for today:

My Dad, the biological one

My father-in-law

My Godfather

God, THE Father

The Fathers of my Faith

The Founding Fathers of the country in which I reside

The father figure I used to work for in El Paso (the doctor)

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Happy Father's Day

1938-2001

Scholarship Winner ~ Only Brother ~ Son ~ Builder ~ Alcholic ~ Avid Golfer ~ The Best Hollywood Gin Player EVER! ~ Teacher ~ Soldier ~ Trot-line Catfish Fisherman ~ Husband ~ Hunter ~ Pool Player (and damned good too!) ~ Domino Dynamo ~ Gambler with Bad Luck ~ Master Warrant Officer ~ Math Whiz ~ PaPa ~ Viet Nam Veteran ~ Gulf War Veteran ~ Provider ~ Wonderous Child of God ~ Football Watcher ~ NASCAR fan ~ Ranchhand ~ Prom King ~ Color Guardsman ~ Joketeller ~ Perfectionist ~ Advisor ~ Lover ~ Chief

Most of all:

My Daddy

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

Still miss you.

xoxo

Letter to my daddy

Hi Daddy.

Today, six years ago, I said my last goodbye to you. I don't know if you heard it, but I believe you did. I'll never forget caring for you those last days...the last hours...that you were trapped by your disease, choked by cancer, oblivious to the world you were leaving behind. It was the roughest thing I've ever seen, done, experienced....but what a blessed gift it was at the same time. I learned about God from your death. I learned to not fear death. I learned that I could care for a sick person compassionately. I learned what Cancer is like in the end. I learned a few things about our family too, but will keep that tucked in my back pocket.

Your Eldest Granddaughter was there when you died. When you were still awake, but could not talk, you were aware of her. This four month old you asked to have placed on your chest so you could touch her -- love her to the very end. It's unforgettably painful and beautiful at the same time. The human spirit is amazing. As complicated as the spirit can be, you longed for and gave out the simplest of needs: love. Love of a baby. Love of your legacy. I'm so thankful that you got to meet her, Daddy. I'm so thankful that you got to see how beautiful she is, and that she brought you some smiles. And, part of me that is so incredibly sad and grieving that you'll never meet Your Little Granddaughter. I make sure my kids know who you are, Daddy. They know you are special, and wonderful, and that you are real. You would be so breathtaken with Your Little Granddaughter. She's so vibrant and radiant and FUNNY. And BLONDE! Can you believe she's a BLONDIE??

Today, I was so happy as I left to work. I got to the building, and was waiting at the elevator. I looked down and guess what I saw? A penny. A bright, shiny, 2006 penny. It was you. You were saying "hi" to me. I find these pennies at the times I need them most. So, I picked you up, took you to my desk, and you sit now on my keyboard so I could think of you all day.

You're missed, Daddy. Oh so much, you're missed. I love you beyond words and beyond time. Thanks for bringing me into this world. I can't wait to see you in the next one.

Love forever,
Jackie

Daddy

Yesterday was Father's Day as we all know.

It's such a bittersweet day for me. As I revel in the sweet melodic memories of watching My Two Princesses bond with Their Daddy, I can't shake the void of My Own Father.

I struggle daily knowing he's not here on Earth with me anymore. It's an especially hard struggle on days such as Thanksgiving - our family's favorite holiday. It was the only day of the year my parents, brother and I sat down together as a family for a meal. We were always in a hurry to eat so we can watch the Cowboys play.

I miss Daddy on his birthday. It even landed on Thanksgiving sometimes.

I miss Daddy on Veterans Day and Memorial Day. He was a 30 year career soldier in the Army. Damned fine one at that.

I miss Daddy every holiday with my children because I grieve the potential. I wish he could've seen me and My Husband get married. I wanted him to give me away and share the father-daughter dance. I grieve that he won't be around to see My Girls learn to ride a bike, get a crush on a boy, graduate high school, get married. He won't be here to be a great grandfather. He isn't here to share his lap and read a story to them.

He barely lived long enough to meet My Eldest. He will never meet My Little One.

I hate cancer.

Hi Daddy,

I feel you with me all the time. You say hello to me at all the important times and the not so important times because I find pennies and see red cardinals. We even found a little plastic toy soldier at the lake where your ashes melted into the waters where you fished. I know your spirit resides in me....in My Girls....and we will forever be touched by you. But I really long to touch those rough hands so tan from golfing. I miss playing Hollywood Gin with you and hearing you say, "incisions, incisions". The days at the Saddle Bronc fryin' catfish and hushpuppies, singing old country songs with one of your buddies who is sitting on the old tractor pickin' guitar. Yeah. Sure miss you, Daddy.

Love you <---------this much----------->
~Juliette Bravo