IT’S BEEN HARD WITHOUT YOU…

Forty-two years ago today my father left this earth. The number of decades that have passed is astounding, but more remarkable was that I only spent thirty-two years with him as my guiding force. More years on this earth without him than those with him, it’s a hard pill to swallow.

My dad planted so much of “what I am” in me. The gift of music was one of the great ones. I was a mere 8 years old when he bought me a beautiful rosewood Steinway. This gift spoke highly of his confidence in my ability to embrace music as an important life component. My childhood was filled with live music in our living room – when Grammie put on her dancing shoes and Granddaddy picked up his D’Angelico guitar, Big Brother’s saxophone came out and a harmonic foundation began. Momma’s sweet voice holding perfect pitch and Daddy keeping the time with his bongos, they called to the bullpen – another part was needed in the rhythm section, hence my musical heart was launched. It is no wonder that I still yearn today in missing them all.

Imagine this picture – two years preceding Dad’s departure, there I was living a successful life in my beloved Colorado town, music ringing in my ears. The phone call to my lovely home overlooking the foothills, “Come home,” they said, “come home”. And so I did, I packed up my precious life and ran to his side where I stayed for every minute, every event, even every defeat until he let go. I was the one chosen; Sister Golden Hair was merely a babe, a tender teenager that really hadn’t yet understood the enormity of the situation. Big Brother, the stoic one, was a stanchion – like he was on the day we laid Daddy to rest, standing tall and erect as he read Footprints in the Sand at his gravesite. It was me who involved myself in every detail of his cancer diagnosis. Attending every appointment, holding Momma up so she didn’t fall apart, taking Daddy to see his beloved trawler, the Briny Marlin, as he worked through his emotions of not only saying goodbye to her, but saying goodbye to the life he had with her. That extraordinary experience also shaped me, no doubt.

I made many promises in those final weeks with him, and came away with a steel rod planted firmly in my spine. I grew strong in knowing I could get through most any plight if I could get through losing my dad. I believe my faith grew exponentially, too, knowing God, the Almighty, now had my father in His heavenly space.

I truly believe my dad visits with me often. Sister Golden Hair sits and communes with him almost every day, she says. He comes to her in the form of a beautiful Cardinal that sits in a tree above her as she rests in her favorite spot. I know Dad must love it there – her view overlooking the boat dock that stretches out to the Bay, so reminiscent of the life he loved. I think he is watching over her, too – the masterpiece he didn’t quite get to finish.

Sister Golden Hair and I are the only one’s left now. And, yes, it’s been many years since our dad left the earth, forty-two to be exact. Not a day goes by that I don’t pass his photograph and say, “Hi Daddy – how was your day? Mine was a good one, I miss you.”