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”

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