Happy Birthday Daddy

Today is the 91st anniversary of my dad's birth. In a few more days, I'll be the same age he was when he died. It's been a whole lifetime for one of my sons since my dad passed away--literally. We went up to Wyoming to Daddy's funeral, and when I got back home to California, I went to the prenatal clinic and had confirmed why I'd been so tired the whole visit. Not that a major family passage like losing your father isn't a good enough reason. Our last child came to earth to live the same year my father left his earthly journey to go back to heaven. I know they knew one another, and I know that my dad delivered his wonderful spirit to us. So, it's easy to associate their lives together, even though they didn't cross paths here.

It's intriguing to realize, now that I'm the parent of adults, how little it matters to your mother-brain that your children no longer need you like they did when they were infants or little children. In  your parent brain, these people are still your "babies" and you haven't slacked off at all in the fierceness of your protective instinct. When it was the last week of my dad's life---and we all knew it--we talked on the phone. I was nine hundred miles away, but it was really important to him that I knew that he loved me deeply. He repeated that over and over. It was the only thing that he really needed me to know, actually. I did know it, of course; he was my dad. But, I realize that it was something I just assumed because he was my dad. But, at that point, when there was nothing left in his life but pain and death, it was all he could talk about to each of us. He never wanted us to forget.

It's been an interesting 30 years since he left us. He didn't really leave. Oh, his body died, relieving him of the burden that he'd carried for many years. We had the funeral, and we left that husk under the lilac tree, on the hill overlooking the place where he was born and lived, all but a few years of his life. We haven't been able to see him, or laugh with him, or watch him enjoy our children. But, his influence on us continued unchecked. He wasn't a well-educated person, but he urged all his children to get  as much education as we could, and there are a lot of college graduates who claim him as grandpa. He wasn't especially comfortable at church all of his life, but he lived the gospel of Jesus Christ as defined in the scriptures: doing good for others, caring for the poor and helpless, loving his neighbors. He's even occasionally "visited" us for special reasons. Each of us sisters can tell you of a very sacred event when we "heard" his voice, or felt his spirit, or knew he was watching over or caring for us. 

So on this occasion of remembering him for his birthday, I'd like to just remind myself that his example of fatherly love has been influential on how I show my parental love. His example of being a good person has been an incentive for me to live the Gospel of Jesus Christ as well as I can. See, just because someone isn't around in person anymore, doesn't limit their influence on those whom he loved and who loved him. I know I'll probably get to sit down and account for myself with him some day. I want to give a good report. He was always proud of me, and I want to always be worthy of that pride.

 

He is the little blondie on the lap of his grandfather, front row right. His parents are on the far left. The blonde girl on Dad's lap is his sister Margie.

 

 

I don't know how old he is in this photo, but his hair was still blonde.

 

 

This is a close-up from a school class photo. He is probably in 5th or 6th grade.

 

 

 

This is 1965 or 66--the one year we all lived together in the same house. The littlest sister was born in the summer before the oldest sister was a senior in high school.

 

 

This is the not-yet-sick grandpa playing with our oldest son in their living room, 1977.

 

 

This is May, 1982 in San Diego. Daddy had just given the name blessing for that baby at church.

 



 

This is the fall of 1982, when our youngest brother came home from his mission. In just six months, he'd lost a lot more weight and was much weaker. He lived about 15 more months.