Great father and great memories

fathers day card

“This is the price you pay for having a great father. You get the wonder, the joy, the tender moments – and you get the tears at the end, too.” – Harlan Coben

I’ve come to the realization that Father’s Day will always be bittersweet. The first few years after my dad’s death were really difficult, and you can tell by the type of posts I wrote that I was really grieving.

Not to say that I am not still grieving – I think that will last forever. But the pain isn’t the “punch in the gut” grief like it used to be. Continue reading “Great father and great memories”

Straight from heaven – a message from Dad

fall sunrise

Given the current climate of our country, and our world, anxiety seems pretty high these days. I know I am not alone. For me, I can toss in mid-life adjustments, family circumstances and an insanely busy schedule to the big bowl of life, and mixing it all together, I can attest that I am feeling a bit on-edge and hyper; simply put – anxious.

Add another ingredient of life into the mixing bowl – my dad passed away a little over two years ago. I still miss him. He was my “go-to” guy when I felt anxious. He didn’t always try to fix things; most of the time he just listened.

The father-daughter bond we shared was very strong, and even though I can’t physically see or hear him, I think of him daily, and I believe he communicates in his own special way.

For instance, a few hours before my dad passed away, we experienced an early evening, mid-summer storm. Strong winds, thunder, lightening – the works. A vibrant and a most beautiful rainbow appeared shortly after the storm… and a rainbow occurred monthly at the same time – the 23rd day of each month – for several months after his death. Anyone who has lost someone so dear marks the monthly anniversary until it becomes a yearly observation. (Oh, this was amazing, too – a rainbow appeared on the first Father’s Day we celebrated without him.)

I will be going about my day, thinking of Dad, and then, one of his favorite songs will be on the radio, or one of his favorite hymns will be listed in the church bulletin. During times of incredible stress, I have seen Dad in my dreams. He says nothing, but has the most peaceful smile and always gives me a hug.

It is all too vivid and the timing is way too perfect to be called a coincidence.

When fall rolls around, I think of him constantly. Anyone who knew my dad also knew he had an immaculate yard, and during the fall, he declared a full-on attack of leaves. Yes, this is the man who would stop mid-conversation to go outside and grab a leaf off the front lawn. And yes, this is the same man who “slid” off the roof and broke his leaf blower because, yes, he was on the roof, ridding it of leaves, so that they wouldn’t land in the yard.

During Dad’s eulogy, our pastor shared these stories to all who came to celebrate his life. There was so much laughter. Seriously, who gets on the roof and, essentially, rakes it? One year, my siblings and our spouses wanted to bring bags of leaves and dump them all over the yard as a prank, so that when Dad grabbed his morning paper, he would be greeted with 3-4 inches of leaves covering every blade of grass. We didn’t, because, well, we knew that could have caused a major health event. We didn’t want to bear that burden the rest of our lives!

When we interred Dad’s ashes in a memorial garden at church, there was a hush of quiet as our immediate family gathered. It was a pretty fall day, and the earlier rain had subsided in the nick of time. Pastor was reading some Scripture, and said a prayer, and then there was a quiet murmur, which turned to some mild snickering… because in the spot where Dad’s remains would eternally rest, in that just-opened space in the memorial wall, what does our pastor find? A leaf. He wondered if we should remove it, or leave it there to drive dad crazy for all eternity.

See what I mean? I swear he sends us messages from beyond.

Well, I have really needed my dad these past few weeks. What I wouldn’t have given to just talk to him, which I still do. I guess what I really wanted was to hear his voice.

This past Sunday, after worship, my youngest daughter and I took a stroll through another garden at church. It was a nice walk, and we had just heard our pastor’s sermon about angels. The garden, still sporting some roses in the early fall, was peaceful and pretty, with a calming fountain and lots of stones with Scripture verses along the path. Halfway through our walk, one stone stood out to me because, of all things, there was a leaf laying on it. One, lone leaf, which, of course, caught my eye. Any time I see a random leaf, I can’t help to think of dear old dad.

Oh my gosh…I had to grab my phone and snap a photo, because I honestly could not believe my eyes! Straight from heaven – a message from dad!

do not be anxious

Right under the leaf, the Scripture verse read: “Do not be anxious about anything.” Philippians 4:6.

Teary-eyed, and a little shaken, I looked up, and whispered, “Thanks, Dad.”

© Lynne Cobb – 2013>

Let me know if you have received a message from heaven!

 

Sex, Super Bowl and Sundaes

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“Everyone in society should be a role model, not only for their own self-respect, but for respect from others.” – Barry Bonds

Like so many other Americans, I spent last night watching the Super Bowl. My teen-aged daughter had a couple of her gal pals over, and we feasted on pizza, chips and make-your-own sundaes.

I admit that I don’t know a whole lot about football, and the game itself doesn’t interest me much. As a writer with a background in journalism, advertising and public relations, I watch the Super Bowl for the commercials.

This year, I was pretty disappointed.

My daughter and her pals use the word “awkward” for most any situation. So when the Calvin Klein, scantily clad male-model underwear commercial aired, in a room with impressionable young ladies, let’s say I felt, um, awkward.

Dismissing the commercial as inappropriate, I reminded the girls that, like female models, this guy didn’t represent real guys. And most men don’t do interpretive dance in their skivvies (I think!). I mean, they may slide across the floor like Tom Cruise in “Risky Business,” but not like in this commercial. And Tom did have a shirt on, too, didn’t he?

Of course, these types of commercials are prevalent. Airbrushed men and women grace our big-screen TVs and magazine pages, and make us average Joes look like the Stay-Puf Marshmallow Man. I think I am dating myself.

When Beyoncé took to center stage for the half-time show, let’s say at that point “awkward” was an understatement. I thought that I should run and stand in front of the TV, blocking the girls’ view, not caring about being labeled the old-fashioned, non-cool mom. But I didn’t. Instead, I took the opportunity as a teaching moment; to say that the attire these gals were wearing for the entire world to see was, in my opinion, entirely inappropriate. And because of what they wore, they sold themselves short. Basically, their talent came in second to their costumes, and that is sad.

Oh, I am a fuddy-dud. But please, hear me out.

Sex sells. That has been proven over and over again. But in our culture, we are selling ourselves out. We are getting to the point that we are being de-sensitized. Does that matter? In a word, yes! Well, why?

Just as with violence, we keep pushing sexual images on everyone. Young, impressionable kids are told by our attitudes that “sex is bad; sex is dirty,” and then they see images on TV and in magazines showing big boobs, tight butts, trim bellies and more. They are so used to seeing these images, that there is a need to show more and more skin to make  messages and shows more effective and enticing. And shocking.

Sadly, the more skin they see, the less they find it shocking. Our young ladies are basically encouraged to dress provocatively to get attention, because that is the message they are sent. So, any talents or skills they have are second in line to how much skin they bare. And it is spilling over to the guy’s side now, too.

When we, as a culture, de-sensitize sex, at what point do those lines blur into increased incidents of sexual harassment, assault, rape and other crimes?

I remember back when I was about 18 or 19 years-old, and I was heading out the door to meet my friends. I had on a brand-new, tight-fitting skirt, with a very long slit. It showed plenty of thigh.

My dad stopped me at the door.

“You’re not wearing that out of this house,” he hollered.

“What?” I responded, shocked and stunned. I mean, come on, Dad, I’m a legal adult!

“That sends the wrong message,” he yelled.

“What are you talking about?” I yelled back.

“That slit will be sewn up. You are not walking out the door in that thing. End of discussion.”

And he walked away.

Stunned, I went back into my room, changed, and muttered about getting my own place and wearing what I wanted. A few days later, when cooler heads prevailed, my mom sewed the slit to an approved length.

I am really sorry I never thanked my dad for that valuable lesson. Though he didn’t use these exact words, by his actions, he was showing his concern; that he wanted me to respect myself enough to not sell myself short. If some young man wanted me, then he should want me for who I was; the whole package – not just the thighs.

I bet if I post a racy photo on my blog today, it will generate a whole lot more hits than by just posting my words. But that’s okay. I am not going to cheapen myself. No Dad, I am glad I listened. I wish you were here for me to say thanks. Whatever I do in the world will be done to God’s glory, via the talent He’s given me, not by selling myself short.

So there it is – my a-ha moment. After all these years, it hit me last night while giggling with the gals and eating ice cream smothered in chocolate, caramel and whipping cream: If a product or a person needs to be sexualized in order to sell, then you know what? It isn’t worth my money or time.

An a-ha moment I plan to share with my kids. And their friends.

What do you think? Am I old-fashioned or onto something here? Let me know in the comments section.

© 2013 – Lynne Cobb

Birthday parties and funerals

“Presents don’t really mean much to me. I don’t want to sound mawkish, but – it was the realization that I have a great many people in my life who really love me, and who I really love.” – Gabriel Byrne

Somehow, I have made it through “The Year of Firsts.”

It was July 24, 2011, in the very early hours of the morning, that Dad was called to be with the Lord. At 1:40 a.m., he ceased to breathe on this side of Heaven, and continued his pain-free journey with those he loved who had gone on before him.

He may have broken a record for the shortest stay in Hospice, as he was wheeled into the room around 4:30 p.m. on July 23, and didn’t even make it a full 10 hours. I remember it vividly. And these past few weeks, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t help but to remember every single detail. Every single detail.

The Alzheimer’s ravaged his memory, but one thing that will always stand out during his last stage of life was his love of children. He was fascinated watching them, and enjoyed visits with his grandchildren and his great-granddaughters. His entire face lit up when he was around them. I think, too, that the kids had no fear of him. I believe some adults who knew Dad feared him because of his disease – not knowing what to say, how to react or if they’d somehow catch his dreaded, memory-sucking affliction.

So as we neared the one-year mark, this was how my brain functioned; like an over-worked diary that spit out timeline info on a continuous basis:

“July 10, the ambulance took him from the nursing home to the hospital; July 11, a ventilator was inserted; July 22, the ventilator was removed and the sedation was turned off…” and on and on and on my thoughts went.

Thinking I was going crazy (hey, no comments from the peanut gallery out there!), I shared my concern with a friend who lost both her parents recently. She asked how I was doing, and I was a bit emotional saying, “It’s one year today. He died at 1:40 a.m. last year, and I woke up at 1:55 a.m. this morning. My first thought was, ‘It is finished,’ and I cried.” With a hug she comforted me, and admitted that she went through this process as part of her grief experience as well. I felt better. Like I hadn’t totally lost it.

So I embraced those times and dates. Difficult as they may be, those memories are part of my history, and they make me who I am today.

I allowed my brain to continue:

“July 25, we met with the funeral director and pastor, planning the visitation and funeral. July 25 and 26, we collected photos and memories to celebrate his life on July 28.”

July 28 – a year ago today, at this very time – we gathered with several hundred people and celebrated Dad’s life.

But July 28 has another major significance for me. It is my granddaughter’s birthday. We will gather today, on her fourth birthday, to celebrate her life.

Could it be God‘s hand at work, as we gather today, to yet again celebrate life?

I believe so.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

Reflections on July 4th

I skipped our neighboring town’s Fourth of July parade this morning. It isn’t quite the same since my children are older and aren’t real concerned about collecting the candy loot along the parade route. Instead, I enjoyed the quiet of the morning along with a cup of coffee.

The air was already humid and hot as I placed the our flag in the holder. Of course, like every minute of every day, I thought of my dad while I adjusted the flag. He was such a patriot – he put the flag out everyday. When we surprised him with an awesome flag pole one year, complete with a light so he could leave the flag up at night, you wouldn’t believe the smile. His entire face lit up, and he tended to that flag faithfully. The landscaping and lighting were always perfect. He’d have it no other way.

We used to have a blast – pun intended – on the Fourth of July. When we were young kids, we would go to my dad’s brother’s house for the day. It was great: grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, awesome food, sparklers. In the evening, we’d sit at the foot of my uncle’s driveway and watch the fireworks. The smell of barbecued burgers, fireworks and cigar smoked enveloped us.

If there was a ball game on, you can bet it was being listened to, with an adjustment to an antenna to reduce the static. And you can safely bet my dad, uncle and grandfather would gripe about what the Detroit Tigers were doing – or not doing – that particular season. Words were peppered with expletives, making us kids laugh and our mothers blush.

As time went on, the trees in the park grew, and we lost our vantage point view at my uncle’s house. We moved the event to the park, and as us kids grew older, we went our own separate ways with our own friends. Eventually, there were weddings, moves across town and across the country. The passing of time and relatives changed the face of the Fourth of July.

When my little (at the time!) family moved back “home” after our military moves, we started our own tradition of attending parades and fireworks. Our town sponsored both, and so our house became like my uncle’s: filled with relatives, kids running, barbecue and water balloons. All day long, our house had continuous movement, anticipating the fireworks at night.

With each flag I see today, I’ll think of my dad the patriot. He loved the military, for which he was not called to serve.  I often imagine that if he could have gone to basic training, he would be the guy who was super buff because he’d have done thousands of push-ups due to smart-aleck remarks made to his drill sergeant. As fiercely protective he was of his family, I bet he would have been an outstanding non-commissioned officer. His guys would come first – I know that in my heart.

Of course, he’ll be missed this evening when we toss the burgers on the grill. We’ll laugh about the year my dad ran off like a bat out of hell to correct an ignorant punk who  stupidly threw a firecracker towards my young children as we walked home from the fireworks. Boy, did that guy mess with the wrong family 🙂

Dad, enjoy viewing the fireworks tonight from your new vantage point. I bet it will be awesome.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

The anger phase? Yeah, felt it

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” – Queen Elizabeth II

The florist did exactly as instructed: Use flowers with patriotic colors, make them look “masculine,” and for Heaven’s sake, please don’t arrange them to look like they are en route to a funeral home.

I love my florist. She gets me. She knows I abhor funeral-looking flowers and she always accommodates my requests.

So after church on Sunday, why, oh why, did I want to take that floral arrangement and chuck it across the pews and watch it smash into the brick wall?

I ordered the flowers for Father’s Day in memory of my dad. They looked beautiful on the altar. But as I retrieved the arrangement to bring home, a wave of anger enveloped me. I felt like the flowers were a consolation prize. And I didn’t want them.

I wanted my dad.

I wanted to go visit him, to hug him, to hear his laugh, to see his sentimental smile and watch him nod his head as he read his Father’s Day card. I wanted to eat strawberry shortcake and have too much coffee with him. I didn’t want those damn flowers because they represented his death. They reminded me that I couldn’t see him in person, that at best, I could visit where his ashes are interred.

It was hard, and I did my best to get through the day without another meltdown. I propped his picture up so he was sitting with me as I muddled through chores.

The erratic weather mirrored my emotions: glimpses of sunshine; glimpses of smiles. A stray shower; a tear or two here and there. By the end of the day, the sun was setting, and the tears flowed freely, and it actually felt good.

Ironically, out of a gray sky, the sun blazed fiercely as a torrential rain storm hit in the area. Wiping my eyes, I looked out the window, then headed to the garage.

And son of a gun, if there wasn’t a rainbow stretched out across the sky…

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

Dear Daddy

“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.” – Jim Valvano

Dear Dad Daddy,

I am not sure when I graduated from calling you “Daddy,” but I assume sometime in grade school. It’s kind of funny, but ever since you were in ICU last summer, I went back to calling you Daddy. I’m not sure why, but I feel closer to you when I call you Daddy. Of course, I don’t say it aloud. It is my special name for you.

Anyhow, this is our year of firsts, and we visit yet another observance without you – Father’s Day. Instead of getting you Lotto tickets, I ordered altar flowers in your memory for church. I still can’t get over the strange feeling I get when I say “in memory of” instead of “in honor of.” Seriously, those words seemed a bit interchangeable to me until last summer.

A lot has changed in a year. Somethings I am really glad you don’t have to witness. Other things, I wish I could see your reaction. I know you are next to me, but I can’t see your face – though I imagine that you have the huge grin going on! I can picture you doing “the nod” or rolling your eyes. Oh, how I miss that! And your laugh!

All of us think of you all the time. And we talk about you all the time. I used one of your favorite expletives while driving and then I laughed so hard I almost had to pull over. I wasn’t sure if it was me or you that let out, “C’mon, ***hole!”

We “look for the Larry” in all situations. And like pastor said at your funeral, “there is always a story to tell.” We’ve laughed and cried over the stories. When I’m not sure what to do, I think, “What would Dad do.” And as a child of yours, I may choose to do the opposite 🙂

We all feel robbed of getting to spend quality time with you. The Alzheimer’s stole moments and it was horrible to see you slowly slip away. But what I find amazing is when I dream about you, I see you healthy, whole and happy. It is like having a visit with you, and it just confirms over and over the hope of the Resurrection.

Dad, I thank you so much for all you did for me. I told you, and I do believe you heard all of us whisper to you in your final hours.

But just in case you didn’t hear, I wrote you this letter. I know you’ll hear me, because you dwell in my heart, and that is where these words come from. Thank you for life, for loving us, for your witness of faith, for all your good and for all your faults. Because you weren’t perfect, you showed us that sinners become saints. Because of your love as a father, you gave us a glimpse of the love of our heavenly Father.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And Happy Father’s Day.

I love you, Daddy.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

(ps – These are photos of some of the cards I made my dad…)

This one’s for you, Dad

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… Ecclesiastes 3:1

My favorite time of year is upon us. School is starting to wind down, the weather has been spectacular, and the strawberries are beginning to ripen. Those beauties in the photo came from my yard!

A few years ago, I bought four little strawberry plants. Because I really have no idea what I am doing in the yard, I planted the them behind the garage. Apparently, there are better ways to boost one’s harvest if you just, um, do the research. But even with my mix-up, the plants are taking over that patch of ground and we are getting some decent-sized berries, which are absolutely delicious!

June has always been one of my favorite months, and one of the main reasons: strawberries. For me, just going to our local farmers’ market is like visiting a small space in heaven.

Growing up, these little tastes of heaven were a mainstay in our home. With Father’s Day and my dad’s birthday about a week apart, it was a sure guarantee that something bearing strawberries would be on the menu.

Our family has a rough stretch to get through in the very near future. This will be our first Father’s Day without Dad. On June 25, he would have been 77. And just a few weeks after that will mark the one-year anniversary of his death.

It hasn’t been easy, and I imagine it won’t be easy in the weeks to come. I seek comfort in prayer, in my family and friends. I look for joy in the little things – my granddaughters’ laughter, a pathetically bad joke, a sunny day, flowers in bloom.

I found joy in the warmth of a beautiful and sunny day in May, picking the first two berries of the season, smiling at the little miracles in my hand: from the frozen ground to the leaves pushing through the damp earth, to the pretty blossoms to the berries in my grasp. Life, indeed, goes on.

So, Dad, here’s to you! I will consume as many as possible in your memory

… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Ecc. 3:4

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

Making time to smell the flowers

Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them. – A.A. Milne

Reading my dear friend and mentor’s blog the other day made me sit and reflect on Mother’s Day and flower giving. Cindy’s blog, (found on my BlogRoll and here: www.laferle.com), was a simple post and a photo of the flowers she received from her son and soon-to-be-daughter-in-law.

My Mother’s Day arrangements have evolved as my children have grown older. I, too, received flowers. My youngest son gave me a beautiful hanging basket, and it touched my heart in so many ways. My husband had a rose, freshly cut from our yard, sitting in a vase next to my coffee and newspaper.
I believe my first experience in receiving flowers was from my dad. He never forgot to give my mom flowers on their anniversary and other special days. Every once in a while, he would surprise my sister and I with flowers on Valentine’s Day.

My husband does the same – he never forgets special dates and likes to surprise me with  bouquets. Every year on Valentine’s, he gets roses for our daughters, daughter-in-law, and our granddaughters. He also brought me the most beautiful flowers for the birth of each of our four children.

To me, no bouquet is sweeter than the handful of dandelions, picked with love by the chubby fingers of a toddler. Who smiles more, the giver? Or the receiver?

I still chuckle at the memory of my oldest son, who was about eight or nine-years-old, bringing me some of the most gorgeous hand-picked bouquets I had ever received from a child… until a neighbor (or was it his older sister?) alerted me that the flowers were coming from the garden of the dentist’s office down the street.

There is such beauty in seeing flowers in bloom. There is such a beauty in receiving flowers given with love, too.  The beauty of the flower compels us to pay it forward by sharing them with others.

When God created these living works of art, I am sure He knew they would touch more than our senses.

He knew they would touch our hearts.

Who smiles more? The Giver? Or the receiver?

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

On being gentle and kind

“Life is fragile…handle with prayer.” – Harold B. Lee

I believe I was about 13 years-old when my mother made an embroidery sampler using the above quote. It hung in a frame and I must’ve looked at that piece a million times throughout the course of my life.

Without dating myself (yes, it’s been a few decades since Mom made that!), I really understood the meaning of that quote yesterday morning.

Yesterday, I made the discovery that I am indeed “fragile.”

After dropping the kids off at school, I had a driver pull out in front of me, only to stop and block traffic to turn left. If she had waited just a few seconds, she would’ve had a clear path. Luckily, I was in no rush, but the rudeness just brought me to tears. Honestly, I thought I was crazy being so emotional over this driving incident – which, unfortunately, happens all the time these days.

But my feelings were very real. And it has taken me an entire day to figure out why this bothered me so much. Seriously, I spent a lot of time praying I wasn’t crazy and for the Lord to give me patience with others.

Why? Because I felt like this driver didn’t care about me.

Obviously, she didn’t care about anyone other than herself and her own time-table. But somehow, I felt like she did this on purpose to me. Didn’t she know what I was going through in life? Didn’t she know that my dad died less than a year ago and that I was having a hard time dealing with his death this week? Didn’t she know that we buried a dear friend last week? Didn’t show know that if I hadn’t paid attention to her lack of patience, that we’d have been in an accident?

I felt singled out by this driver, simply because of this: rudeness is running rampant.

The “I don’t give a rip about the next guy attitude” has really gotten on my nerves lately. How can people be so callous and rude? It’s not ocassional anymore – it’s everwhere! It is on the roads, where people are completely inconsiderate of others. It’s in parking lots, where people  leave shopping carts to roll into other people’s cars.  It’s on our front lawns, where folks walking dogs leave their pet’s mess for someone else to clean. It’s in short, snarky comments and the rolling of eyes. Rudeness has become an absolute epidemic.

Of course I don’t expect a total stranger to know me or my emotions on any given day.  But I do expect that people would behave and treat others with some level of respect.

Is it because I watched my dad struggle the last few years of his life that I put myself in other’s shoes?  If I walk through a fog of emotion, are others doing the same? There is no way to know if the people I encounter today have received a big dose of bad news – a death, a diagnosis that is terminal, a foreclosure notice, a job loss. Maybe a smile or a courteous word is all they need to keep moving in that moment.

If I am fragile, than I will just assume someone else is, too.

It is the least that I can do.

Have you been a victim of rude people? Tell me below in the comments section.

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb