I’ve been thinking of Dad all day. He died in September, 2011. This would have been his 95th birthday. I thought of him as I washed my face and noticed the diamond engagement ring he gave to my mother sparkling on my finger. (It’s difficult to think of Dad without thinking about Mom, too.) How many times its brilliance reminds me of the example they were of what St. Paul said in today’s reading: The entire law is fulfilled in this one thing…Love your neighbor as yourself. Mom and Dad were good at that.
Parents are a child’s first experience of the world. Of love. If one is blessed. And I was. I have lots of memories of Dad. I remember crying and being sick when he had to leave for a week when I was young and he traveled a lot for his job. Mom said neighbors commented that they knew Dad was home when they looked in the windows and could see little legs dangling as Dad carried his young children, one by one around the house.
Two things I remember about Dad these days, as I plug away at finishing a book and the website and marketing tasks that ago along with it. The first is his unwavering support and confidence in his kids (and grandkids). Once, Dad and I were working in his basement shop. He was stretching fabric over a wooden board for one of my high school art projects. I wanted to paint a picture of a pregnant Mary and a young Joseph for a contest. We talked as we worked, and I told him my dream: I wanted to write a book someday.
“If anyone can, you can,” he said. “If you want to do it, Mary K., you will.” He said it with such conviction, I never questioned the truth of it. I would. Dad said so. And I did. But, this morning, my present book was overwhelming. I didn’t have the heart for it. I saw the diamond sparkling on my soapy hands. It didn’t make the doubt go away, but the memory of his faith in me helped me sit at the computer and click out a few hundred words anyway.
The second thing that keeps me going is his unconditional love. He loved us no matter what. I’m sure he’d put his arm around me and enjoy conversation, offer encouragement, or watch an old movie whether I wrote another word or not. He wouldn’t say anything about what I hadn’t yet accomplished. Maybe we’d have a dish of ice cream or a cup of tea. With milk and sugar. It didn’t matter really what we did. We just enjoyed the company.
After soaking up some love like that, I’d feel like I could write, or do whatever needed done. My kids felt the same over the years. Time with Grandpa made them feel better. Surer of themselves. Loved for who they were right then.
I miss Dad. But he loved himself into my heart and soul, and doing that, he loved God into them, too. So on mornings like this one, I think of him and can give myself space, take time to visit with friends, fix some food, do what I can, and have faith that tomorrow, I will be able to do more.
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