It really is possible that you might have joined the select centenarians still in our midst who are an inspiration...alert and conversant and engaged in life, even if at a slower pace than in earlier years. Alas, you were called home decades before this celebration we might have shared as a family. Eleven grandchildren and seventeen great-grands with the eighteenth and nineteenth coming this year. Wouldn't you have had a ball teasing and teaching the kids the spoon trick at the table? (Why do I wonder where my sons get their penchant for dinner-table reverie?) On my own recent birthday, I could not help pondering the fact that I have now lived longer than you, journeyed on this earth more years than either of my parents. I think on the fragility of life and the fleeting of the years. Yet, today, I celebrate you still, smiling inside about how it might have been, had our children grown up knowing you. Only our oldest three sons experienced the fun of Grandaddy. Our first little girl, who came along just a month before your passing, never got to meet you. Nonetheless, she grew up with stories passed down about your quotes and convictions, mannerisms and quirks, playfulness and practical jokes, often announcing, "Grandaddy has a hug waiting for me in Heaven".
Today, Daddy, my remembrances are juxtaposed with the present in a dissonant, yet not a maudlin way. While my mind can only create imagined scenarios in the gap of space and time between the past and the present, I carry you into today where I want you to meet Diana. She and Aaron have welcomed me into their home. I am here for a visit, like those occasions when you came to see us as newlyweds. We have enjoyed sharing hearts and life and, well, not every day is like that when we're parents, is it, Daddy? I guess you know. There were times during college days when I was focused on me and my life. I failed to realize a parent is always a parent, that your inquiries just meant you cared, that you looked forward to just hearing from me, that it meant a lot to be appreciated. Forgive me, Daddy. There's so much growing up to do in life. I am still working on it.
This girl of mine makes me wonder about traits that get passed down through generations. She's so organized, just like you. You would love her, Daddy. Her work ethic is stellar. She has goals and a plan for reaching them with self-disciplne and determination. She loves peanuts and ice cream and those little pink wafers you used to serve up with bedtime snacks. Recipes from her grandmothers and aunts are framed in her kitchen and she even collects random pieces of china that match a set from Mother's cupboard. Like the home, in which you reared us, Daddy, where honor was given to grandparents and thoughtfulness extended toward them, this girl prioritizes family. As far as biological genes, do you think she looks a bit like Mother? She is of the small-boned frame and angular facial features, with dark hair and olive complexion, that has caused me to wonder (too late to help with college scholarships), about the possibility of Native American ancestors on Mother's side of the family. What do you think ?
This girl shares a birthday month with you. Soon she will join the quarter-century club. I think about the many years that separate the life experiences and everyday days. Yet, we remained connected. Through our biological make-up, genetic heritage, and spiritual birthright, we are united. With our warts and flaws and joys and sorrows, we are family. We might have celebrated your hallmark birthdays together and baked you two a penuche cake. Indeed, we celebrate life.
Remember how you used to jingle candy corn in your pocket and leave a trail hoping that our Old English Sheepdog would leave you alone? Somehow, you never understood that you were training Schawnroi to follow you everywhere you went. That might be where past and present part ways. This girl loves her pooch....and we're off to more adventures today.
So save this girl a hug in Heaven, Daddy.
And me, too.
I love you.
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