His name was James Henry… and today, April 25th, is his birthday. I think, though I am no mathematician, that he would be 63, were he here now…and he was…no wait…he IS my dad. Just because God brought him on up to Heaven early doesn’t mean he stopped being my precious Daddy!
The last day of his life was in a hospital. He was miserable; told me so. I tried to have cheerful talk with him, recall reading him parts of the Enid newspaper. He told me to maintain my car’s oil changes…
I fed him some strange blue jello-it had blueberries in it- that he seemed to enjoy. I do recollect tearing February 22, 1997 from the daily calendar and popping that day into the trash bin to make way for the 23rd. He made it a few hours, but not quite to sun-up.
I honestly don’t know how long it was that I stood there. Might have been two minutes. Might have been 30 minutes… a lot of people came running and it seems to me there was a siren of sorts, and a PA system calling “code blue.” I do know that I had to get out of that room eventually; my body and mind were wired. I couldn’t see results fast enough by just standing there. I had to walk out of that room where they tried to revive him, if nothing else, for time passage. And here’s kind of a strange memory; I saw the door to the chapel as I waked a short distance down the hospital hallway, and yet, there were stacks of chairs and tables or something impeding my way into said chapel, as if to say “Nope! No chapel for you tonight!” Everything has a meaning, I thought. I turned away from the chapel and faced it standing instead of on my knees.
No…I still can’t get past that little nagging thought that I was SO supposed to have that man in my life for so much longer. But I always said, even in the days following his death, that I would rather have a short life with him as my dad than a whole lifetime of anyone else. So all along I’ve known how lucky I was. I was also lucky to have been beside him as he went to his peaceful reward. I feel I accompanied him to meet God, and that God was delighted!
Anyhoo, among many things that my dad did well, he could write really great letters. When he wrote to me he always began with “Dear Lucy” and signed simply “Pop” at the end. I really have missed so many things about Daddy but he always knew what to say. He was THE MAN with the answers! I am STILL SO MAD I still can’t get ANY ANSWERS!!
But now listen to this… it’s really weird; I’ve been told increasingly over the years that I can really compose great letters! I think it’s kinda funny! Maybe he’s channeling through me! If he is, I’d just as soon know it. Send me a sign, James!
Happy Birthday Daddy. I am sorry when I was 17 I forgot your birthday for half a day. May you always know that I never have forgotten it since, and never shall again. With each passing day, I see who you were and what you wanted yet never quite got to be. I wish I could have gotten through to you how wonderful you were. That is one thing I don’t think you ever realized.
You always said to me “I love you.”
And I said, “I love you more.”
And then you always replied, “There is no more.”
But I do love you more.
Oh yes, I do.
Love,
Your Lucy
