In memory of Dad. “Taters” was originally posted in February 2015
My dad, Bill, would have been 96 today. This is the first year since he “went home to Jesus,” as he always said, that I forgot it was his birthday. I only remembered because it was scribbled in the margin of a book I picked up this morning. Then this post itself popped up in my stats, as if Dad himself had paid my blog a visit! Here’s to you, Dad…
Dad with my sister Joan and me at Red Cup, 2015
Anyone who’s lived in the Midwest knows how brutal the winters can be. Dad’s doctor started recommending he spend the cold months in Tucson with my sister. He went twice toward the end of his life, but there were other things to consider besides the cold weather. It was hard for him being away from all the things that kept him on his schedule–and believe me, my dad had a schedule.
When he called to let me know he was coming home a week early, I was relieved. Two weeks before, his legs gave way and Joanie found him in his bedroom–he ended up in the hospital. I was afraid he wouldn’t make it home. So it was a relief to see him when I picked him up at Mitchell Field. The first thing he said was how pleased he was with the airport wheelchair service. “Why I can travel anywhere in the world now!” He beamed.
And it was good to have him back in his condo which is just three blocks from where I work, and three miles from where Todd and I live. And it was really special to be together again for a Sunday with Dad. While I was making his lunch, he was crushing his pills and said, “There will be no pills in heaven!”
“Or grief or anger,” I added, as I put extra butter on the bread for his sandwich. He’s down to 130 pounds.
“I really don’t have any anger,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “When the Lord is ready to take me, I am ready to go.”
“What about patience?” I asked. He chuckled. “You might want to focus on that or you’ll have to stick around until you get it right.” I winked.
“You know, I’ve lost twenty pounds since my surgery in 2007?”
“Yes, but you’ve also lost four inches of height, Dad. You don’t need the weight.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about that. You always make me feel better.”
No, Dad, you always make me feel better.
On Monday, I called him on my way to Danceworks after a meeting. He told me his congestion was back and had let his doctor know, but they hadn’t yet called him back. “Are you taking your Mucinex?” I asked.
“No, I stopped that.”
“Why?”
“Because I had put myself on it and then I took myself off it.”
“Well, put yourself back on it.”
“Can I talk to my doctor first?”
“Sure, if they call you back. If they don’t, take your Mucinex.”
“Well…I left it in Tucson.” I could hear his smile.
“I’ll pick some up.” Walgreen’s didn’t have any on the shelf so I went to CVS across the street and picked up two bottles. I was just leaving the store when I saw his text pop up. “Can you pick up my Warfarin prescription?” I turned around to head back to the pharmacy.
Tuesday night after work, I went by and made a Tater Tot casserole how my mom used to make it. I made enough for our whole family because that’s the way Mom made it, too, though it was just the two of us. I lit candles and he said the prayer.
When we’d finished and the dishes were done, the leftovers put away, he worked his way over to his chair with his new walking stick, lowered himself ever so slowly into it, and suddenly all serious, told me to sit down.
“I have something I’ve been wanting to say to you.” I took a seat on the couch beside him.
“I know I am getting weaker and won’t be able to stay here in the condo much longer.”
“Oh, I’ve thought about that, Dad. I think we can find someone to come in and help out a little more. They could prepare all your meals and just watch over things.”
“Well, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“One day at a time, Dad.”
“Okay. You always make me feel better.”
No, Dad, you always make me feel better.
The truth was, I got immense joy out of solving those little challenges Dad faced during his last years. There was always a solution to he found—even if it was just a distraction from the fact we were facing his mortality.
I tried not to think about losing him. Dad was so full of life, in spite of the fact that he weighed 130 pounds, had no appetite, hobbled and coughed. He was a fighter, a soldier, and carried a copy of “Onward Christian Soldier” around with him in his briefcase.
I never stop missing him 😉 when I remember!
Still making me feel better, Dad. In memory of Bill, February 9, 1929- June 29, 2016.
At the Cabin
Dad with his pal Old Dog Mr. Sam and Rose
A good daughter and a good father.
I am glad your dad is back home. I will pray for him daily. Tell him we love him and want him around. He is a man of God. So glad you made his favorite dish. If you could e-mail the recipe I would appreciate it.
Aw Debs – this was precious; it made me cry! I knew that dad was anxious to go to Tucson to see Joan, but when we talked over the last two weeks I knew he was anxious to come home to see you too! Love you both!!
Georgine
Precious. I just returned from a week-long visit with my Dad. You’ve inspired me to write about it.
Debbie you always make me feel good when you write about dad. We are in a time where we really needto lean on Jesus. Jesus will work it out dad has lived his life trusting Jesus.
Love, John
John, I read your note to dad and he said, “one of the greatest joys of being a parent is getting a note like that from one on your kids! ”
Aww, Joyce, thank you! Can’t wait to read it!
Marsha, thanks for reading and taking the time to comment. Thank you.
I appreciate, lead to I found just what
I used to be looking for. You’ve ended my 4 day lengthy hunt!
God Bless you man. Have a great day. Bye
Appreciation to my father who told me about this weblog, this blog is in fact remarkable.
I so loved this re-post. Every word, and every photo. Life is such a mystery, but one gets by with a little help from those who love and trust.
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story of life with your dad! I love that he told you that you made him feel better and you realized how he did the same for you! There is nothing like the love of a father!
Also thank you for sharing about how I support those who are going through a season of caring for their aging parents. I am honored to have you share on A Season of Caring Podcast!
Life each day with no regrets, Rayna
Thanks so much for reading. You probably read it the first time! 😄❤️
My pleasure, Rayna. I’m looking forward to it. There’s so much to share about parents and faith! ❤️
A delightful repost that is so encouraging. You helped your dad and he helped you. Family is important and supportive.
That touched me deeply. Makes me wonder if our dads have met yet
Gary, I’ve no doubt God is having a fun time connecting us all here and there, here to there and there to here!
Isn’t that often the case? We get back so much more than we could ever give. Offer a little and God takes it and blows fertilizer and Life into it!
A very beautiful post and a demonstration of honoring God by honoring your parents. Taking care of them is a ministry of love that stores up a treasure trove of memories that will enrich your life until you see them again in glory.
What a glorious future awaits us all! To be with our God and His people.
I love your family and now I’m missing your dad as well as my own! (Not to worry – it’s always a good time to remember someone I loved so much – besides, he’d tell me “As soon as your mother calls, I’m gone.” ❤️
“A treasure trove of memories that will enrich your life”
beyond your imagination! ☺️ What wonderful if not wonder-filled words you have written here. So true. So beautiful. Thank you.
Deb
It’s astounding to me how quickly we can connect in such deep and meaning filled ways! One in spirit. I agree, it is such a gift to remember someone we love. Your quote brings tears. (Not to worry, they are such good tears ☺️) Thanks Kelly, I love your family too. ❤️
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Deb, I enjoyed this all over again — just as much! He seems incredibly missable.❤️
Thanks so much for reading twice!! 😃 ❤️❤️You’re such a wonderful writer friend. 🥰
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