Dad

My dad is gone from this Earth. I no longer have his tangible presence. The rest of his presence is hard to feel right now through the pain, the hurt, the anger, the sadness.

Writing is one of the only ways I feel like I can adequately express feelings so they are no longer stuck in my head. I still don't feel like I know how to write about my dad being gone. I still want him to come back.

My mom asked the kids to share some memories for the funeral. These are the ones I felt I could fit into five minutes. There are so many more and so many I wish we could still make. Until more can be made I will strive to remember all I can.

Memories

I put off compiling this until last night. I didn't know how or what to share. On Tuesday driving back here from Logan I prayed silently for a long time that my Heavenly Father would help me remember and recall the memories.

I just remember him being my dad. I remember hearing the story of him sitting watch outside my hospital door to ensure my mother and I were able to rest when finally getting to sleep after surgery to remove a tumor in my spinal column. He would NOT let the nurses come through that door when his girls were trying to rest. They had to go through him first!

I remember him reminding me constantly, "Daddy loves you." His long distance hugs over the phone which I got plenty of being the long distance kid for the last 10 years. Our phone conversations ended with these so very often that he would tell me to take my left hand and put it on my right shoulder, my right hand and put it on my left shoulder and squeeze. "That's daddy giving you a hug."

I remember every time I walked out the door of the house, his chair sits right by that front door, and he would almost always no matter if we hugged already, stick his hand out and grab mine to squeeze before leaving. I remember sitting on his lap, even with his 30 year old daughter, he'd pull me in tight with my head on his shoulder and tell me that he was proud of me, Nathan, and all three of our little ones.

My dad would give anything to anybody but some things were harder for him to part with, like his hat. He didn't let many people handle certain hats but once he had grandkids all his hats became fair game. I know Nathan and Kamden have a number of hats given to them from dad, including a nice brown cowboy hat to Kamden like the one sitting with my dad here today. My mouth hung open a little bit the day my dad handed that hat over to his grandson without hesitation.

I remember him telling me countless times as a teenager in his serious voice, "Don't you roll your eyes at me!" I remember watching the 5-8 minute train video called "Give it Your Best" that I have no idea where he found, every morning before school for months. We sighed every morning he'd pull us into his room, sit us on his bed and push play to that VHS. I think we all expected it to last for a week or so but instead it last for at least a month if not longer! Every morning! We sang "Love is Spoken Here" often in our house, but very begrudgingly, when my dad caught us fighting.

I remember strict curfews, guns being talked about when we went out on dates, and strict questions of approval to an incoming son-in-law. I remember seeing my sleeping babies on his lap, huge bear hugs, and kisses to those babies, and his face light up when they walked in the door. I remember him being scared to hold his brand new grandbabies, worrying about being so very gentle with those hands of his.

I remember his hands. In 2012 on my family blog I wrote about these hands.

"My dad is not a small man, and neither are his hands. Although, he does not have lengthy fingers or hands, they are solid and if you've ever met the man, you have probably met his strong handshake as well. He's not afraid to use those hands for all jobs, rough and tough. However, I know of many times he has used those hands to smooth back some hair from his daughters face or to cradle his grandchildren.

These hands, of my father's have not seen the likes of lotion too many times but we couldn't count how many times they have been covered in grease or dirt. The roughness in his hands tell of many trials, small and great that have been fought head on, while those small smooth spots tell of humility in times that he pulled himself up, always working harder and harder."

My dad taught me to Never give up. When I was thinking of what I felt portrayed the life of my dad, and what he would want me to remember, I thought of one of my favorite songs called, "Broken" by Kenneth Cope.

The song reads:

Broken clouds give rain
Broken soil grows grain
Broken bread feeds man for one more day

Broken storms yield light
The break of day heads night
Broken pride turns blindness into sight

Broken souls that need His mending
Broken hearts an offering
Could it be that God loves broken things..?

Broken chains set free
Broken swords bring peace
Broken walls make friends of you and me

To break the ranks of sin
To break the news of Him
To put on Christ til His name feels broken in

Broken souls in need of mending
Broken hearts an offering
I believe that God loves broken things

But, oh, our broken faith
Our broken promises
Sent love to the cross...

But still that broken flesh
That broken heart of His
Offers us such grace and mercy
Covers us with love undeserving

My broken soul that cries for mending
My broken heart an offering
I'm convinced that God loves broken me...

Praise His name, our God loves broken things.


My dad had plenty of "broken" moments in life. He was broken down and built back up a number of times but he never gave up. He learned to partake of a perfect Atonement from his Savior every day of his life and he used the brokenness to improve. No matter the challenges he didn't give in. He learned to hold strong and keep going.

This is my dad and so much more. He was mine and that is a tender mercy I was blessed with greatly. Thanks daddy. I look forward to the day I will sit on your lap again and feel you squeeze me tight. You always told me, "Daddy loves you."

I love you too.