Father Knows Best
by Miracle Chasers on 06/14/12
I had a dream once, or at least I thought it was a dream at the time. Our older daughter Laura was several weeks old; her birth had coincided with a mix of emotions, mostly euphoria and joy, but also the resurfacing of a deep sadness that my father, who had died a few years before, would never know her. In my dream, my father appeared at the bottom of the stairway, not in a form I recognized; I simply had an understanding of his presence there. He was looking up in anticipation, before he climbed the stairs and wandered into the nursery where he lingered next to Laura’s crib. He crossed the hall to our room where I sensed him just inside the doorway, his visit there more fleeting. And then he was gone. I woke up, one moment to the next seamless, the dream taking place in what seemed like real time and space. What a gift this was to me.
I feel blessed for the years I had my father in my life. As the years have unfolded since he died, I know that memory can play tricks on you, that his good qualities, and there were many, overshadow any faults he may have had (as it should be, and may I be granted the same selective memory from my children!) But the wisdom he imparted has remained fresh and true despite the years, and has woven its way throughout my life.
“You have choices, Katie, so make one, and stop complaining,” he said to me after my third night in a row describing my “unfair” first boss.
Dad was happy to discuss the choices I had, including finding another job, which I did. He was not willing to allow me my victimhood. He was happy to help as long as I was willing to take responsibility for my own circumstances, overcome inertia, and rise to the challenge. My second job proved to be the catalyst for a successful career and I never looked back. I learned I could sail my own ship.
One summer lunch hour in San Francisco, we ran into each other on a street corner. He was scurrying off to a business lunch, but stopped to say hello and give me a hug. His hug caused the welling up of tears in my eyes as happens on occasion when guards are let down in the safety of loving arms. He asked if this had to do with the long time, on again-off again boyfriend I had been chasing (humiliating as that is to admit) since my freshman year in college. I nodded.
“One of these days, you are going to wake up and realize that you are the catch, not him-and when you do, I assure you it will be his misfortune,” he told me.
Ah, yes, a push toward self-esteem, good to have. It was also news to me that he had been tuned in all along to the vagaries of my love life (with four daughters, this was hardly expected and best left to my poor mother who swept up more broken hearts than dust balls!) I did muster the courage to break off the relationship later that summer, freeing me to meet the love of my life. My father lived long enough to walk me down the aisle.
A year after Jim and I were married, I came to spend the day at my parents home. Back from a run around the familiar streets of their neighborhood, I found my father sitting in the family room staring out the window at his beloved garden, no doubt making a mental list of all that it needed. He had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and it was about a month before he died.
“Dad, my knee is still bothering me. I don’t think I’ll be able to run in the race I’ve been training for,” I announced as I came into the room, still huffing and puffing.
He turned around slowly to look at me, weary and old beyond his years, “And some people are dying of cancer,” he said matter-of-factly.
I don’t believe he was feeling sorry for himself as much as he was reminding me to keep perspective. Though his words stung, I have not forgotten their meaning or the stark contrast of the moment as he was looking at losing the race of his life.
Dad was a traditionalist, which I found to be both annoying and endearing at the same time. He loved history and books, and was a true patriot, having served in the Navy during the Korean War. No surprise that he loved to play the record, and sing along to The Battle Hymn of the Republic! He had a good and strong voice.
On our family last outing, we went off to a local café to pick up some lunch to go. As we pulled into a parking spot, dad turned from the passenger seat to face me and my siblings. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he said. For a moment nobody moved as his words sunk in. Like any parent would, I’m sure he felt there was so much left unfinished. In retrospect, I think he was very brave and I’d like to think I learned how to be courageous too.
In the nearly thirty years since, my father’s wisdom has informed my own life experiences in a way that time and distant memory could not erase. If I could, I would tell him, “Not to worry, Dad, lessons learned.” - A Father's Day Message from Katie
