Daddy's Hands

I am very blessed in that I had two wonderful, yet very different, Dads. They both helped raise me, had a lot to do with who I am today, they both loved me and nurtured me. I have written a lot about my step-dad, Eric, but not a lot about my biological Dad. Today, as I am missing my step-dad so very much, it struck me that my bio Dad is still here and I should honor him today.


Dad and I had a difficult time for quite awhile. He married a wonderful woman who was raising three girls on her own, as their Dad didn't really have a lot to do with them. My Dad, being the type of man he is, saw where Eric was doing such a great job with us, he felt my step-mom's girls needed him a bit more than we did. In doing this Dad missed a lot. He acknowledges this fact. Our relationship has come a long way and I choose to focus on the good times and be grateful for the relationship I have with him today.


I can remember as a little girl, before my parents divorced, sitting in Dad's lap watching "Dukes of Hazard", "Hee Haw", or "CHiPS" while eating peanut butter and jelly on saltines. He'd put the peanut butter and jelly in a bowl, mix it up, then we'd spread it on the crackers. This is just a really strong memory I have.  I remember him tickling me, watching him as he worked on stain glass in his work shop, and comforting me. If I had a nightmare Dad would come in my room, read a bit of the Bible to me and I would calm down.


There was a popular song in the 80's and it, to this day, always makes me think of my Dad:

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.

I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love...
In Daddy´s hands.

Nowadays Dad lives about an hour and a half from me. He comes down when he can. He loves his grandkids. He calls them every Sunday night around 5, calls me every Wednesday and is usually here for a visit every 6 weeks or so. But, if I need anything he is always a phone all away. Dad is great with his hands, he has fixed my tile, put in an over the stove microwave for me, upgraded my kitchen faucets, bought and put together a swing set for my kids, the list goes on and on.  Dad loves doing this kind of thing. He has always been good with his hands and I am very grateful!

So on this very special day, it is important to remember there are lots of different kinds of Dad's out there. I am grateful and so very thankful that I had two that loved me so very much. I learned a lot from both of them. I am hoping that my kids are as fortunate as I was. As I learned from my step-family, there's a lot more than biology that makes a family. The most important thing is love.

Somedays It Is Still So Raw

I was not planning a post for today. But I have suddenly been struck by such sadness, such grief. I read on twitter about a woman who just lost her husband to Cancer. I read several of her blog entries detailing their journey. It is heartbreaking. I am nearing the one year anniversary of my Dad's death this coming Saturday. I thought I was doing pretty good. I thought I was handling it pretty well. I'm not. It is still so very raw. More raw than I realized.

As I write this I am sobbing, tears flowing out of my eyes as if I have never cried over this before.  My life has changed dramatically since I last was able to have a conversation with my Dad. I imagine daily what he would tell me, how he would put his arm around me and tell me it is all going to work out.  How he would advise me. What would he say? I know he would understand, I know he would support me, I know we would have many conversations.

But that is just about me. I also ache for my babies. I ache for the loss that my oldest daughter, Abby feels. She was so close to Dad. They truly had a special bond. Molly and Dad were just beginning to do all the things he did with Abby when he was diagnosed. Zach was only 4 months old when Dad's battle with Cancer began. He didn't even make it to see him turn a year old.  Dad had so much to offer my kids, I hate they won't get to benefit from his knowledge, from his sense of humor, from his love of birds and flowers.  Molly, even at a little over 2 when Dad died, still asks to go see him. It is amazing to me that she has any memories of him at all.

I still think of him every single time I see a mockingbird and remember the day he held my hand and told me to tell Abby anytime she sees one it is her Granddad watching over her. I hope that applies to me to, because not a day goes by I don't see one and wonder...