I'll never forget the day "Uncle Shorty" finally became "Dad" to me. I put it off for years, keeping that part of my heart closed off as deeply as I could. It was Father's Day, several years ago, and instead of the usual "Papa" cards from the kids, I felt a strong desire to also get him a "Dad" card from me. I don't remember what it said, but it was perfect. When he read it, and I finally called him Dad, the look on his face told me I had done the right thing. That smile is forever seared into my heart! Words on a piece of folded, decorated cardstock made him smile at me with love, acceptance, pride, and joy in his eyes, and during the hug we shared, he told me, "I'm your dad, and you're my daughter. You always have been, ever since we got you. I'm real proud of you. I love you, daughter."
After that day, he never missed an opportunity to call me his daughter, and every time he said it, he got that same proud, loving look on his face. Let me tell you, nothing broke those walls around my heart down faster than that face. He was my dad, and I was his daughter. Even as his mind was gradually stolen by Alzheimer's, he still called me daughter and gave me that smile. I will be forever grateful that God gave me a lucid goodbye, and that Dad's last words to me were "I love you."
Now, on Father's Day, I find myself realizing that I don't just miss him. I also miss the men he replaced. I know that I resisted letting him fill their place for a reason, and now I am reminded why I was so stubborn. The ache in my heart is so deep that it takes my breath away - I grieve for Dad, knowing that visiting him tomorrow will mean visiting a grave. I grieve for Papa, the first man to ever show me what consistent, unconditional, fatherly love really is. I grieve for Fred, my bio dad, for the man he used to be and the man he has become. I grieve for all that I have lost and for all that could have been. I grieve, and I remember.
I remember Fred taking me into the Frito-Lay truck when I was just a
toddler, telling me I could choose any treat I wanted from the vast
array. His voice was so gentle, his eyes so loving, and I knew how much he loved being my dad then.
I remember staying up all night playing dominos with Papa, talking about anything and everything, or enjoying a comfortable silence. Those late nights are my favorite memory of my teenage years.
I remember staying with Mom and Dad when Aaron was a baby, waking up to the sound of Aaron yelling 'hey!' when Dad walked by, and Dad yelling 'hey!' right back before coming to get him for some quality Papa-Aaron time.
I remember the day Fred told me that his home was no longer my home, when I was 7 years old and completely blindsided by losing my daddy only two years after losing my mommy, unable to comprehend that he'd had to choose between me and his new family.
I remember the day Papa died, knowing he was gone the moment he let go of my arm and fell to the floor. I still shiver when I remember the bitter cold wind that chilled me to the bone as we buried Papa and Grandma together, when I was 16 and wondering how life could go on when I believed I had no one left to love me.
I remember helping mom choose the flowers for Dad's funeral, overwhelmed with gratefulness that I had the privilege of being his daughter and being involved in the final days and moments of his life, but also overwhelmed with guilt at all the years I spent pushing him away.
Happy Father's Day in heaven, Dad and Papa. Dad - you'll always be my dad, and I'll always be your daughter. Your grandchildren and I miss you more than words can say. Papa - It's been so long since I lost you, and yet you are still with me in so many ways. My kids know what a great inventor and handyman you were, and how much you loved Little Debbies and strawberry pop. You'll always be a hero in my eyes.
And, though I know you'll never hear it, Happy Father's Day, Fred. I hope you know that there's always a piece of my heart that belongs to you.
