Quiet in His Love

Yesterday, I celebrated my first Thanksgiving without my dad. The tears and sadness hit today. Being thankful has been hard this year, especially starting in August. One less place was set at the table yesterday. My husband said the prayer instead of my dad. One less voice joined in sharing the thanks for all God has done. One less laugh echoed around the table when something tickled our funny bones. At least five less hugs were given. My heart hurts, even now tears fill my eyes. It can't be real. It just can't! I want to tell him how much I appreciate him, love him, think of him, am proud of him, am thankful that he's my dad. But I can't. Maybe, like my 11-year-old does, I can send my dad a message through God. I am thankful for forty-one years with my dad, for hugs, for encouragement, for silly wordplay, for smiles, for shoulder rubs, for prayers, for talks, for adventures, for road trips, for rides to work, the mall, wherever, for so much more than I can say here. My

Two months have passed since my dad's Celebration of Life service. It feels like yesterday or five years or not real, depending on the day, my mood, my thoughts and emotions, etc. What can I say about my dad today? What haven't you already heard or read? Did you ever hear about the time my dad thought there was a skunk in our motel room on a family vacation? It was the middle of the night, and I had gone to bed with a newly-gifted-to-me stuffed Mickey Mouse. Do you see where this is going? Well, apparently, Mickey left my side at some point during the night and got away from the bed I was in. At some point after, my father woke up and in his tired, travel-worn state of mind saw Mickey on the floor. In his mind, in the dark, Mickey morphed into a skunk. I think he probably woke my mom up and began formulating a plan of how to get the skunk out of the motel room. Well, now that story is legendary in our family. Do you have those legendary, shared family memories that pop up in yo

It has been two months since my dad went to his heavenly home. My heart still hurts and my mind still frets. Life is not the same without my dad here to laugh with, to joke with, to dream with, to ponder and question and discuss with... His knowledge of so many things was only passed on to various people in snippets and segments, not whole volumes. Some may know how to hook up a washing machine or adjust a home air conditioning system or the finer points of our country's constitution because of my father, but the ins and outs of washing machine repair, proper vent openings, or the real purpose of a constitutional amendment will likely be lost on most of us. Can we dream about the perfect RV? Can we plan the ideal family gathering? Can we discuss boot camp in the 1970s? Can we find the quickest route from here to our favorite spot in Wisconsin? Can we hear the story one more time of driving cars out on the ice or hunting trips with Grandpa or getting white bell-bottom jeans covered