Missing My Daddy

Nine years ago today, my father died. What are you supposed to do on the anniversary of your father’s death?

The thing that I will do is remember. I will remember and I will write down those memories so that my daughter, and her daughters, and every future generation know my story. My love. My relationship, with my dad.

My dad was not easy to love most of the time. He was stubborn. Angry. Deceptive. Manipulative. I loved him, however. He was my daddy, and I was his little girl. His Sarah Anne. His Pumpkin Head. I was his little girl, and he was my daddy.

My first memory of my dad, was teaching my Sunday school class. He taught me the books of the Bible. He also taught me Psalms 1. This chapter of the Bible had comforted him while he was in Vietnam. I still know it to this day. When I was 3, I would climb on his belly and bounce on him while reciting the books of the Bible and Psalms 1, while the poor man tried to breathe.

At some point in my childhood, my family (Mom, Dad, Mel and me) played softball in the front yard. It only happened once, but I loved every minute of it. We used old margarine containers for bases and a mush ball. What a time!

Dad used to mow the yard once a week, and I was always invited to sit on his lap or ride in the wagon as he went. I even got to steer! I thought I was big stuff, or at least I thought I was.

In September of 1981, my dad bought me an ancient pony. She lived a grand total of 3 days, but by then, I was hooked. From that day on, we had ponies and horses in our lives, until the end of his.

 Dad spent weekends doing pony rides all day long, then hauling me to the local horse shows and rodeos so that I could compete on my favorite horses, Ty and Dazzler. He would work all summer long and still help me with my rodeo schedule and fair time. Dad was my biggest fan at every horse show. I could hear him yelling for me, no matter where I was in the show arena.

October of 1991, I got my driver's permit. He made me drive home. The 1982 Chevy 4x4 dually, with a 454 engine and a manual transmission, eventually became known as "The Beast" to me, and I loved it. However, that day. The first day, I was petrified. I thought my dad was nuts, but he patiently, and courageously taught me the ins and outs of highway driving. (I had been driving around the farm since I was 9.)

Dad hauled me to every 4-H and FFA meeting that I had. He encouraged me to go to college. Once I left second grade, he could no longer help me with my homework, but I knew he was proud of me. I loved him for that.

When dad got sick and had to live at the Veteran's Home in Lafayette, I would visit twice a week. I would take him to a store, and he would want to wander without me, leaving me behind as his motorized wheelchair took off. I would follow the noises of displays being knocked over, picking up as I went.  When he could no longer locate me, he would start to yell, "PUMPKIN HEAD!!!!!" over and over at the top of his voice, trying to get my attention. I would run in the complete opposite direction.

Life went on with dad, having wheelchair races up and down his hallway, eating meals in his cafeteria, singing solos at his chapel on Sundays. Life went on, until it didn’t anymore.

I got the first call from his doctors on a sunny spring morning. Dad was failing fast and they needed to reconfirm the "do not resuscitate" orders on his chart. I was called in from my classroom to talk to the doctor. There I stood, in the school's office, telling the doctor that yes, if my dad dies, let him die. Yes, this is what he wants. Yes, I am sure. Yes, I will be okay.

The second call was to tell me to come soon, he was asking for me. JP and I walked into his room and he awoke. I greeted him and he squeezed my hand asking me to sing hymns to him. So I did. 

I sang hymn after hymn, after hymn. I sang all of his favorites...What A Friend We Have In Jesus. When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder. In The Garden. Holy, Holy, Holy. I Surrender All. Trust And Obey. Until I could remember no more.

I then sat and held his hand. Dad was tired and I knew we had to go. Deep down , I knew this was the last time I would see him. I hugged him and kissed him and told him I loved him. He squeezed my hand and said, "I love you too, Pumpkin Head." I walked out of his room, down the hallway, got on the elevator. As the elevator doors shut, I knew that the doors of my childhood had shut as well.

My dad was failing very quickly on a day that happened to be my mom’s birthday. As mom sat there with him, she leaned over and whispered, “Mel, please don’t die on my birthday. Please do not do that to me.” He asked a nurse to let him know when it was midnight. He requested he be told, even if she didn’t think he could hear her. At midnight, the nurse leaned over and told him the time. Twenty minutes later, my Dad went to meet Jesus. His final gift to my mom was holding on until May 28 to let go of this world.

My dad had asked me to give the eulogy at his funeral. It was so much harder than I thought it would be. I have yet to work through some of the emotions that I have in regards to my dad dying. A few years ago, I even dialed his old number to tell him something. How do you forget that your dad has been dead for 9 years? I guess you can. I guess I did.

I miss you, Dad. I miss your corny jokes, your teasing ways, and your love for me. I only wish that you could have lived long enough to know Little Bug. People say she is just like I was when I was her age. I am pretty sure you would have gotten along like peas in a pod.

~Annie

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