Father's Day
Sunday is Father's Day. I am remembering my father, the best dad any girl could ever have.
My first memory of my dad is when I was four years old and we lived in Peru. We were at someone's house, there was a lot of people, and I felt sick. Daddy took me back home on a motorcycle. I remember feeling very anxious because my stomach was upset, and I didn't want anyone to be mad at me. He was so kind and sympathetic, and put me on the cycle in front of him. I thought nothing in the world could ever hurt me if I was with my big strong daddy. Growing up, I knew no one had a better daddy than me. Other people's fathers might shout or be bad-tempered, but my father was always kindhearted and sweet. He was tall and handsome and had thick black hair. He loved kids and would get down on the floor and let me climb on his feet and lift me up in the air. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Up she goes!" he would say cheerily. I always had to have a "piggyback ride" on Dad's back up the stairs to bed, and when we were going on long walks. Dad always seemed happy and cheerful and couldn't find a bad word to say about anyone. Especially his girls always had the best of intentions, he was sure, and any mischief we got into was certainly overexaggerated. I can't really remember any bad memories of my dad. I was reading a grief post once and it said to list your favorite happy memories, and then your bad ones. I couldn't come up with any bad ones. My dad was never cruel to me or said anything unkind to me. He would get aggravated, but only when I greatly deserved it! All I ever heard from him was "I love you, Cheri Grace" "My you're a smart girl" "What a pretty girl we have Marti" (to my mother). It was wonderful to go on walks with him at night, because I had him all to myself. My dad was a very busy, workaholic kind of person and he was in his office working or travelling quite a bit. Having time with dad alone was very precious. We would go walk around a few blocks and I was just happy with the stars, the stories my dad would tell me, and feeling close to him. Once when I was ten years old, we were walking alone and dad suddenly became serious. Usually he just told funny stories about his childhood, or asked about what I had done that day. "I'll tell you something, Cheri grace." he said. "The only thing that really matters is that you serve the Lord. When it's all said and done, that's all that matters." I didn't know what to say to this statement, and we continued along. I'm sure he thought a 10 year old would quickly forgot something like that (especially because I had no interest at all in serving the Lord- that was something old people like my parents did!) but it stayed with me all my life. When I think about my father's life in a nutshell, I remember that statement that he made. His passion was serving the Lord and he did it in many ways. He did it by serving as a loving and devoted husband, and a wonderful father. He did it by showing people kindness and mercy, even those who certainly didn't deserve it. He did it by preaching the word of God. He did it by never judging someone who did not agree with his beliefs, but loving the person instead. He did it by passing along to the hearts of his children and grandchildren and all the rest of his family and those who knew him, a heart full of love, a heart that had been changed by Christ and truly resembled Him.
When my dad was older, he developed Parkinson's. First he had a little tremor in his hand, which disturbed him. He had always been very healthy. He would keep his hand in his pocket. Gradually, he became more stiff, and his facial features more mask-like, with the parkinsonian facies. It was a terrible disease and I was very angry that this disease would attack my father. I felt he did not deserve to have this. In the spring of 2000, my mother was caring for dad, who had become confused and more needy. She needed a break, so I took dad down to Arkansas for a week to visit his family. He seemed to get younger and younger the closer to his hometown he got. He was thrilled to see his brother and sisters and old friends, and we had a great time walking in the woods where he used to live. Dad and his younger brother (who was close to seventy himself) looked like little boys as they happily traipsed over familiar old wooded areas. At a local church there, dad preached what would turn out to be his last sermon. I was very worried. I knew that dad had been pretty mentally clear so far, but I also knew at times he could be quite confused, and I was worried he might not be able to preach a sermon without losing his train of thought, getting too shaky, or having some other trouble. I needn't have worried. The Spirit of the Lord was there that day. Dad preached beautifully. During the sermon, he stated something he very rarely said (because he did not like to talk about it) "I have Parkinson's." Then he continued, "I have a hand that shakes, and I can't get around like I used too. I can't drive. I don't like not being able to do things I used to do." I thought to myself, that's just how I feel too dad.. I don't like this at all. It isn't fair! "But I don't care." Dad continued. "I'm going to serve the Lord. I'm going to serve the Lord with a shaking hand. I'm going to serve the Lord from a wheelchair if I have to. I'll serve the Lord until I die!" There were several young people present and I thought, who knows what effect this may have on their lives? Isn't it easy to love God and serve Him when everything is wonderful in your life? Dad had always had a pretty great life. Now he was having some suffering, but if Dad could accept that, I decided I would have to as well.
There's a song- "The Dance"- by Garth Brooks that has a lyric that says, "And now...I'm glad I didn't know... the way it all would end, the way it all would go." That was how it was with my dad. I'm glad I never knew how bad things would be at the end because I couldn't have borne it. I am glad we don't have a looking glass into the future. The Lord was there and He carried us all through it- but I wouldn't have wanted to know about it ahead of time. My mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Dad was very clingy to her, and would pray on his knees every night that he did not want to live without Marti. It was heartbreaking. Little did I know the Lord would answer his prayer. It was Thanksgiving of 2003 when Dad got sick. First we thought it was just a pneumonia, then he had a bad reaction an antibiotic, and probably had some anoxic (lack of oxygen) damage to his brain when his blood pressure dropped dramatically from the reaction to the antibiotic. He became extremely confused, and then delirious. In the hospital he would shout and carry on and no medicine would calm him. From December to March, it was a nightmare of different hospitals, nursing home (until they expelled him for bad behavior- too much shouting!) trying to take care of him and Mom at their home at the same time, and watching my tall, strong, smart, wonderful Daddy turn into a wizened, miserable, demented old man. Most of the time he was quite confused, but sometimes he would suddenly clear up, and these were precious times. The week he was at home with my Mom, I had been up probably five days with a couple hours sleep each night because he shouted all night, and he and Mom both required care all day. I was just exhausted and I knew I couldn't do it any longer and he would have to go to the nursing home- something I had sworn all my life I would never, ever, do. I went in his room and sat in the bed with him and put my head on his chest like I did when I was a little girl. He was hollering and complaining, and I started crying and crying. I said Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't take care of you. I've tried and I just can't do it. I'm sorry Daddy. You deserve better. I just can't do it. I was heartbroken. Suddenly I felt Dad patting me and saying, "I love you Cheri Grace. I love you. The Lord will take care of us all." Then I had tears of happiness because for a few minutes, I had my old daddy back again.
The nursing home didn't last long because of dad's disturbance of the other patients, and they sent him to a geropsych facility in the middle of the state of Missouri. He was there for a month. Most of the month I stayed in a nearby hotel and some of the time I stayed back with mom. I didn't want to leave him because I felt the end was near. And when I came in the morning, the nurse would always say, "You must be Cheri Grace. He was yelling for you last night." so I felt terrible going back to Hannibal and leaving him when I knew he wanted someone with him. He did so much better on the geropsych unit, where he received excellent care. I remember the Wednesday before they sent him out, was a wonderful day. He was alert and oriented. "Why, Cheri Grace!" he said happily when I came in, and he was even smiling and his face had it's old expression on it, not that parkinson mask. I was so excited to see him like that and had him phone my mother and sisters to talk to them. We walked around the hospital and dad was up to his old friendliness. "How are you, young lady?" he would say as we walked by an elderly woman in a wheelchair. "Good morning, good morning sir!" he would say enthusiastically as we passed a sullen middle aged man. Dad always got a smile out of everyone. It was such a happy day. The next day I was back in Hannibal at the hospital with mom and we got a call that Dad was doing poorly. I rushed back and he was in the emergency room in septic shock, looking like he was going to die. He managed to pull through it, but only to go back to the nursing home and then eventually to his own home to die under hospice care. He was literally wasting away before our eyes and he did not want a tube feeding. (See "Taking Care of Corpses" ) Neither did we. No one in the family wanted dad suffering any more, and we all knew where he wanted to be- in heaven where he could be with his beloved Marti.
The night before my father died, my sister Celia and I laid in the bed with him between us. That's how skinny he was. We talked about old times, told him how much we loved him, and cried over him till he had tears on his face. The hours drug on and on and his breathing was very labored. One minute I wanted it to be over, the next minute I thought- how am I going to live without my Daddy?
He died the next morning, on the first day of Spring. The window was open and it was a beautiful sunny day. My mother was in bed with him, holding him, and my aunt was reading to him from the Bible. It was exactly how he would have wanted it. My chest hurt and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I went and sat on their front porch steps and my fourteen year old neice Rachel sat with me and put her arms around me. We sat there for awhile with the sun on our faces, and cried some and I felt better. I was glad she was there.
It's hard to put into words what my father was to me. He was the inspiration in my life. He had a light that shone brighter than anyone I have known. It is because of him that I know Jesus is real. I could always see Jesus in him, in his heart, in his attitude, in his eyes. It is because of him and my mother that I always knew I was a worthwhile person, no matter what mistakes or failures I have made. He is my hero in every sense of the word.
The complete part of the lyric I mentioned from "The Dance" is
And now
I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
Our lives
Are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss
the dance.
My life with my father- the memories, all caught up together, in a montage of love and laughter and happiness- was indeed a dance I wouldn't have wanted to miss. I consider myself and my sisters the luckiest women alive, because no matter what happened or how, we had the best daddy. I am thankful beyond words that my children knew and loved their "Pa" and grew up hearing him preach and were baptized by him. For all of us who knew him and loved him, I thank God for such a great blessing. I don't think I will ever know anyone like my father, but that is okay. Being his daughter, remembering him, is enough that I can thank God for every day the rest of my life.
I miss you Daddy. I couldn't give you a card or a present, so I wrote this instead. Happy Father's Day.
your Cheri Grace
My first memory of my dad is when I was four years old and we lived in Peru. We were at someone's house, there was a lot of people, and I felt sick. Daddy took me back home on a motorcycle. I remember feeling very anxious because my stomach was upset, and I didn't want anyone to be mad at me. He was so kind and sympathetic, and put me on the cycle in front of him. I thought nothing in the world could ever hurt me if I was with my big strong daddy. Growing up, I knew no one had a better daddy than me. Other people's fathers might shout or be bad-tempered, but my father was always kindhearted and sweet. He was tall and handsome and had thick black hair. He loved kids and would get down on the floor and let me climb on his feet and lift me up in the air. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Up she goes!" he would say cheerily. I always had to have a "piggyback ride" on Dad's back up the stairs to bed, and when we were going on long walks. Dad always seemed happy and cheerful and couldn't find a bad word to say about anyone. Especially his girls always had the best of intentions, he was sure, and any mischief we got into was certainly overexaggerated. I can't really remember any bad memories of my dad. I was reading a grief post once and it said to list your favorite happy memories, and then your bad ones. I couldn't come up with any bad ones. My dad was never cruel to me or said anything unkind to me. He would get aggravated, but only when I greatly deserved it! All I ever heard from him was "I love you, Cheri Grace" "My you're a smart girl" "What a pretty girl we have Marti" (to my mother). It was wonderful to go on walks with him at night, because I had him all to myself. My dad was a very busy, workaholic kind of person and he was in his office working or travelling quite a bit. Having time with dad alone was very precious. We would go walk around a few blocks and I was just happy with the stars, the stories my dad would tell me, and feeling close to him. Once when I was ten years old, we were walking alone and dad suddenly became serious. Usually he just told funny stories about his childhood, or asked about what I had done that day. "I'll tell you something, Cheri grace." he said. "The only thing that really matters is that you serve the Lord. When it's all said and done, that's all that matters." I didn't know what to say to this statement, and we continued along. I'm sure he thought a 10 year old would quickly forgot something like that (especially because I had no interest at all in serving the Lord- that was something old people like my parents did!) but it stayed with me all my life. When I think about my father's life in a nutshell, I remember that statement that he made. His passion was serving the Lord and he did it in many ways. He did it by serving as a loving and devoted husband, and a wonderful father. He did it by showing people kindness and mercy, even those who certainly didn't deserve it. He did it by preaching the word of God. He did it by never judging someone who did not agree with his beliefs, but loving the person instead. He did it by passing along to the hearts of his children and grandchildren and all the rest of his family and those who knew him, a heart full of love, a heart that had been changed by Christ and truly resembled Him.
When my dad was older, he developed Parkinson's. First he had a little tremor in his hand, which disturbed him. He had always been very healthy. He would keep his hand in his pocket. Gradually, he became more stiff, and his facial features more mask-like, with the parkinsonian facies. It was a terrible disease and I was very angry that this disease would attack my father. I felt he did not deserve to have this. In the spring of 2000, my mother was caring for dad, who had become confused and more needy. She needed a break, so I took dad down to Arkansas for a week to visit his family. He seemed to get younger and younger the closer to his hometown he got. He was thrilled to see his brother and sisters and old friends, and we had a great time walking in the woods where he used to live. Dad and his younger brother (who was close to seventy himself) looked like little boys as they happily traipsed over familiar old wooded areas. At a local church there, dad preached what would turn out to be his last sermon. I was very worried. I knew that dad had been pretty mentally clear so far, but I also knew at times he could be quite confused, and I was worried he might not be able to preach a sermon without losing his train of thought, getting too shaky, or having some other trouble. I needn't have worried. The Spirit of the Lord was there that day. Dad preached beautifully. During the sermon, he stated something he very rarely said (because he did not like to talk about it) "I have Parkinson's." Then he continued, "I have a hand that shakes, and I can't get around like I used too. I can't drive. I don't like not being able to do things I used to do." I thought to myself, that's just how I feel too dad.. I don't like this at all. It isn't fair! "But I don't care." Dad continued. "I'm going to serve the Lord. I'm going to serve the Lord with a shaking hand. I'm going to serve the Lord from a wheelchair if I have to. I'll serve the Lord until I die!" There were several young people present and I thought, who knows what effect this may have on their lives? Isn't it easy to love God and serve Him when everything is wonderful in your life? Dad had always had a pretty great life. Now he was having some suffering, but if Dad could accept that, I decided I would have to as well.
There's a song- "The Dance"- by Garth Brooks that has a lyric that says, "And now...I'm glad I didn't know... the way it all would end, the way it all would go." That was how it was with my dad. I'm glad I never knew how bad things would be at the end because I couldn't have borne it. I am glad we don't have a looking glass into the future. The Lord was there and He carried us all through it- but I wouldn't have wanted to know about it ahead of time. My mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Dad was very clingy to her, and would pray on his knees every night that he did not want to live without Marti. It was heartbreaking. Little did I know the Lord would answer his prayer. It was Thanksgiving of 2003 when Dad got sick. First we thought it was just a pneumonia, then he had a bad reaction an antibiotic, and probably had some anoxic (lack of oxygen) damage to his brain when his blood pressure dropped dramatically from the reaction to the antibiotic. He became extremely confused, and then delirious. In the hospital he would shout and carry on and no medicine would calm him. From December to March, it was a nightmare of different hospitals, nursing home (until they expelled him for bad behavior- too much shouting!) trying to take care of him and Mom at their home at the same time, and watching my tall, strong, smart, wonderful Daddy turn into a wizened, miserable, demented old man. Most of the time he was quite confused, but sometimes he would suddenly clear up, and these were precious times. The week he was at home with my Mom, I had been up probably five days with a couple hours sleep each night because he shouted all night, and he and Mom both required care all day. I was just exhausted and I knew I couldn't do it any longer and he would have to go to the nursing home- something I had sworn all my life I would never, ever, do. I went in his room and sat in the bed with him and put my head on his chest like I did when I was a little girl. He was hollering and complaining, and I started crying and crying. I said Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't take care of you. I've tried and I just can't do it. I'm sorry Daddy. You deserve better. I just can't do it. I was heartbroken. Suddenly I felt Dad patting me and saying, "I love you Cheri Grace. I love you. The Lord will take care of us all." Then I had tears of happiness because for a few minutes, I had my old daddy back again.
The nursing home didn't last long because of dad's disturbance of the other patients, and they sent him to a geropsych facility in the middle of the state of Missouri. He was there for a month. Most of the month I stayed in a nearby hotel and some of the time I stayed back with mom. I didn't want to leave him because I felt the end was near. And when I came in the morning, the nurse would always say, "You must be Cheri Grace. He was yelling for you last night." so I felt terrible going back to Hannibal and leaving him when I knew he wanted someone with him. He did so much better on the geropsych unit, where he received excellent care. I remember the Wednesday before they sent him out, was a wonderful day. He was alert and oriented. "Why, Cheri Grace!" he said happily when I came in, and he was even smiling and his face had it's old expression on it, not that parkinson mask. I was so excited to see him like that and had him phone my mother and sisters to talk to them. We walked around the hospital and dad was up to his old friendliness. "How are you, young lady?" he would say as we walked by an elderly woman in a wheelchair. "Good morning, good morning sir!" he would say enthusiastically as we passed a sullen middle aged man. Dad always got a smile out of everyone. It was such a happy day. The next day I was back in Hannibal at the hospital with mom and we got a call that Dad was doing poorly. I rushed back and he was in the emergency room in septic shock, looking like he was going to die. He managed to pull through it, but only to go back to the nursing home and then eventually to his own home to die under hospice care. He was literally wasting away before our eyes and he did not want a tube feeding. (See "Taking Care of Corpses" ) Neither did we. No one in the family wanted dad suffering any more, and we all knew where he wanted to be- in heaven where he could be with his beloved Marti.
The night before my father died, my sister Celia and I laid in the bed with him between us. That's how skinny he was. We talked about old times, told him how much we loved him, and cried over him till he had tears on his face. The hours drug on and on and his breathing was very labored. One minute I wanted it to be over, the next minute I thought- how am I going to live without my Daddy?
He died the next morning, on the first day of Spring. The window was open and it was a beautiful sunny day. My mother was in bed with him, holding him, and my aunt was reading to him from the Bible. It was exactly how he would have wanted it. My chest hurt and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I went and sat on their front porch steps and my fourteen year old neice Rachel sat with me and put her arms around me. We sat there for awhile with the sun on our faces, and cried some and I felt better. I was glad she was there.
It's hard to put into words what my father was to me. He was the inspiration in my life. He had a light that shone brighter than anyone I have known. It is because of him that I know Jesus is real. I could always see Jesus in him, in his heart, in his attitude, in his eyes. It is because of him and my mother that I always knew I was a worthwhile person, no matter what mistakes or failures I have made. He is my hero in every sense of the word.
The complete part of the lyric I mentioned from "The Dance" is
And now
I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
Our lives
Are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss
the dance.
My life with my father- the memories, all caught up together, in a montage of love and laughter and happiness- was indeed a dance I wouldn't have wanted to miss. I consider myself and my sisters the luckiest women alive, because no matter what happened or how, we had the best daddy. I am thankful beyond words that my children knew and loved their "Pa" and grew up hearing him preach and were baptized by him. For all of us who knew him and loved him, I thank God for such a great blessing. I don't think I will ever know anyone like my father, but that is okay. Being his daughter, remembering him, is enough that I can thank God for every day the rest of my life.
I miss you Daddy. I couldn't give you a card or a present, so I wrote this instead. Happy Father's Day.
your Cheri Grace
posted by cherigrace | 8:26 PM
1 Comments:
I never read this until now Cheri. How beautiful is your tribute. How beautiful are your words. What a special gift. I'm so proud of you. Joni
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