My Dad and me
Tomorrow will be the 20th anniversary of my father’s death. In many ways it seems much longer, like he died a lifetime ago. He passed away when I was 10 years old and now, 20 years later, I’m still a little surprised at how much I miss him sometimes. With time, you learn to cope with certain losses. The pain isn’t always unbearable. Most of the time it’s dull and distant. I guess you just learn to keep yourself busy with other things so you don’t have to really dwell on the parts of your life that are painful. At least that’s what I do.
But 20 years later, I miss my father so much more now than I did then. I guess this is largely due to the fact that I’m a husband and father now myself. It really pains me that I don’t get to share my life with him– my wife, my kids, etc. I always get that feeling at the “special” times: birthdays, holidays, weddings, graduation. But lately I’ve been more aware of the “little things” I miss out on, like phone calls and fishing trips and ball games with the kids. I’ve started showing Joshua and Abby Kate some of my old pictures of my Dad. I guess I want them to recognize him when they meet him someday.
I often daydream about what it would be like if he were still here. He’d probably find something to tease Sunny about, like her neatly organized pantry or her refusal to eat fish. I know he’d be really proud of Joshua’s ability to throw a ball and Abby Kate’s uncanny memory when it comes to her Bible stories. And of course, he’d be in love with little Jackson Cash. At Christmas time, he’d tell the funny stories and get out his guitar and sing Johnny Cash. We’d eat Stickies and watch Andy Griffith and Honeymooners reruns. And in my daydream, we never say goodbye.
These are the dreams that take me captive on days like today. They sustain me in those times when the pain is no longer dull and distant, but immediate and tangible. And I relish these dreams, for I believe these are the dreams of eternity; dreams of reconciliation and restoration and peace. I relish these dreams because sometimes I feel like they’re all I’ve got. Dreams. And hope. And a promise of someday…
Until those dreams come true,
I’ll be missing you, Dad.
Jason
already & not yet 
Beautiful.This made my day, brother. I’ve been there.Feasting on that combination of memories and dreams of future reunion is nourishing to the soul. Thanks for the encouragement.
There is nothing that is harder for me as your wife, than to not know your father. I love hearing you talk about him and how you share your stories of childhood. Thank you for sharing your heart!On a side note, it bothers me to hear others talk badly about their in-laws. I’ve even been told that I should be thankful that I don’t have any (man that is hard to write). To those people I say, how dare you? I wish more than anything that I knew your parents. I wish that they were here to enjoy their grandchildren. I wish that they were here for you and me. I just wish that I knew who they were.
You have a way with words, Jason. You really do. Thanks for sharing that. Everything gets put in a different perspective once you marry and especially have children of your own. I know you wish he could be here to see and know Sunny and your kids. I really can’t imagine. I know, though, that he is smiling from up above. Your parents would be very proud of you and your family.
Thanks, guys. I appreciate your words of kindness.
Thinking about you today, Jason. I appreciate how you shared your thoughts and dreams with us. It can help me appreciate what I do have.
Thanks for sharing! I know you miss him deeply. It’s a bummer raising kids without their grand parents. I hate not having parents to share the joys of my parent hood with. Yea, I dread OCT-DEC. Sorry, but I just don’t have any warm fuzzies for the holiday season. And I completely understand the staying busy thing. Why do you think we both have to have the Master’s Degree???
Jason, I left you a comment about this last week and it is not on here. I was so touched by this and those of us that have lost our parents know how hard it is at times. You said it so well, and it really hit home because it has been two years since mom died and I cannot believe it. I have really been missing her lately. It is a bummer not having grandparents for your kids to be with thank goodness for our church family. I do not know what we would do. My girls have never had a granddad. Kents dad is still living but not involved at all with their lives. Thanks again for those great words. You truly do have my thoughts and prayers. I know your dad is smiling as he is watching you be such a wonderful dad and husband.
I’m sure my children can relate. My husband was electrocuted on the job in May 1989. My son turned 12 in August 1989; my daughter turned 9 in June 1989. It’s been really rough for them. All those things they’d like to do with their dad and can’t. When they were in high school, I remember them getting so upset when other kids would complain about their dad. IF ONLY they had their dad . . .
Belinda, I hate to hear that. It sounds like your son is just a little younger than I am. I’m sure I can relate to how your children feel. Laura, I can’t believe your mother has been gone for 2 years. I still remember that she and Sunny had quite a bit to talk about a few years back with their Chrone’s Disease. Tara, the holidays are hard on us all. I’ve noticed that it’s gotten better since we’ve had kids, though.
Clint was 30 in August; my daughter is 27. I copied and pasted this post and mailed to them. Do you ever almost “forget” your dad? Like how he sounded when he talked? Amy (daughter) was almost 9 when it happened and she’s concerned that she’s forgotten things about her dad. It’s really hard on the mom too – my heart goes out to your mother. It’s rough, having your own heart ripped out, seeing your kids’ hearts ripped out, and then seeing their sadness over and over thru the years.
Belinda, I can certainly relate to the feeling of forgetting. There are so many things I wish I could remember. Thankfully, we have one or two old videos I can play to hear my Dad’s voice. But I know exactly what your daughter is talking about. And it was very difficult for my mother, too. She passed away about 7 years later, but those years were very difficult for her. I’m really sorry to hear about the pain in your family.