Sunday, June 21, 2015

Remembering Pop on Father`s Day





It has taken me a couple weeks to find the inner fortitude to write this post. I knew it would not be easy to find something to say that sounded important, moving, or dramatic on Father's Day. I mean, the stores are filled with cards that express emotions much better than I ever could and I'm an author. Perhaps it requires the soul of a poet.

This is the first Father`s Day since Pop died in November. It seems so bizarre not to be handing him his usual gifts of pipe tobacco, a new pipe, and perhaps a new shirt. Pop didn`t like a fuss made over him on any holiday.

"Christmas is for kids," he would say. Or . . .

 "I'm not a father now, I'm a grandfather. This day isn`t for me, it's for your husband."

"I'm too old to celebrate birthday's anymore."

Seems Pop always had something planned to shuttle the attention away from him if he could. Those ploys didn`t work often, for he always had gifts on Xmas, his birthday, and Father`s Day. I also always had him over for dinner. After my mother passed, those home-cooked meals seemed to make him happier than any new pipe or tie did. Perhaps his loss is so hard because now I have no living parents to turn to when I need advice. We never really outgrow needing that shoulder to lean on, now do we?

Yes, it seems very strange not to have Pop here today. True, he was not my biological father, but he was the only father that I ever knew. He was the one that tried to teach me to drive a stick, gave me away, and bounced my daughter on his knee.


I miss you, Pop. I miss your silly sayings, your love of old cars, the smell of your vanilla pipe tobacco, and yes, even your stubborn streak. I miss your tales of World War 2, of your days in the Indian motorcycle group, and your jokes. We all feel your loss every day. Tell Mom I said "hi!" since I know you two are together. 

Love,

Vicki




Memories of Dad
I will take this special moment
To turn my thoughts to Dad
Thank him for the home he gave
For all the things we had.
We think about the fleeting years
Too quickly, gone for good
It seems like only yesterday
I’d go back if I could.
A time when Dad was always there,
No matter what the weather.
Always strong when things went wrong
He held our lives together.
He strived so hard from day to day
And never once complained.
With steady hands, he worked so hard
And kept the family name.
He taught us that hard work pays off,
You reap just what you sow.
He said that if you tend your crops,
Your field will overflow.
My life has been bountiful
He taught me how to give
In his firm and steadfast way
He taught me how to live.
Dad dwells among the angels now
He left us much too soon
He glides across a golden field
Above the harvest moon.
I see him in the summer rain,
He rides upon the wind
And when my path is beaten down
He picks me up again.
Poet Unknown






4 comments:

Anonymous said...

What a beautiful picture and a beautiful tribute. ❤️. Michele

Cathy Brockman said...

Beautiful post and Yes I cried

V.L. Locey said...

Thank you both for stopping by. *hugs*

morgan said...

Love the photo. You were blessed to have him, and he, you.