Remembering

Today would've been my dad's birthday. We had such a busy weekend in Connecticut that I haven't really had a chance to sit and dwell on that fact. Until now. :) Sometimes it feels good to force yourself to sit down, bring back those memories, and have a good cry. Otherwise if I don't let myself hurt, I may bring the pain with me into the hope of tomorrow. I've made it all day without a melt-down. This post will strictly be therapy for me. Nothing entertaining. If you decide to read on, I hope you come away with the knowledge that this man was so worth every tear that has been shed over the past 6 years, 10 months and 6 days. Not like I'm counting or anything....

He grew up in a very strict, Catholic home, being the 3rd out of 4 boys born. To this day I can barely stand to look into my 3 uncles' faces because the resemblance is too strong. He loved southern gospel and country music. As a baby I was a terrible sleeper and he used to drive around for hours with me in his old, rusty pickup truck just to get me to doze off. :) He never once made a rule without a strong relationship behind it, although he did have 3 MAJOR no's for us: no drinking, no dancing, and no bikinis. :) He was fully supportive of my sister and I not having a college education. He knew that our hearts' desires were to be wives and mommies and he never once pressured us into anything else. One of his biggest pet-peeves were husbands who were not understanding of their wives feelings. That, and arrogance. He lived by the motto "love what you do". He worked hard, and played hard. Our friends were of such importance to him that he made a point to be at every possible basketball and soccer game that they were playing in and always encouraged us to have them over for dinner. I remember one night in particular when I stayed up late, snuggled in his arms on the couch just so he would have a buddy with him while he watched one of his favorite war movies. I woke the next morning to a note taped on my bedroom door that said "Thanks so much for watching that movie with me. Love, dad." I still have the note. All growing up he used to take us "spot lighting". Mom would clean up dinner and us girls would load in the truck with dad as he'd drive through every back road imaginable looking for deer. It took me a very long time to be able to drive down those roads again. Mom and us girls meant the most to him in the whole world, but he had 3 best friends: Mr. Goehring, Mr. Feely, and Mr. Dietze. Growing up I was a member of the "posse". He loved those friends as if they were his own kids, and prayed for them consistently. On the day he was buried, our last memory before being driven away from the grave-site were those 4 guys praying. Those were the sons he never had. Okay, starting to lose it now. Completely sobbing. Better wrap this up. The summer that he was killed I was a camp counselor. I never felt comfortable calling home during the week just to say "hey" because the counselor I shared a cabin with thought that was strange and inappropriate. She left camp for the summer on Thursday morning. That Thursday afternoon I called home and got to talk to my dad for quite awhile. He was killed Friday morning. How thankful I am that I made the phone call! Seth and I started liking each other about 6 weeks before dad died. Half-jokingly my dad had Seth fill out one of those "Rules to Date my Daughter" forms. My mom was looking through dad's Bible after he was killed and found the form that Seth had signed. :) He never watched "Father of the Bride" without crying. He lived 46 years. I was 19 when the accident happened. I don't believe it was an "accident", but rather something that God allowed to happen. I am not bitter. Sad, and still broken, but not bitter. Time does not heal wounds. God heals wounds, and He continues to work on my heart. The morning of August 8th, 2003, he climbed aboard his friend's small airplane to fly to Scranton to golf. The Scranton airport was too foggy to land, and the plane crashed into the trees. I have never once in my life thought the pilot was to blame. My oldest son, Silas, looks exactly like my dad's pictures as a child. Thankful for that gift. :) My boys know that their poppop is in heaven. He used to blow his nose extremely loud. :) He had expensive taste in clothing. He used to pay my sister and I to clean his golf clubs. He memorized entire books of the Bible. He absolutely hated reading, but challenged himself to read a certain number of books every year. He died believing that the only way to heaven was a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. My life is and forever will be changed because of his tremendous example. I will forever and always be his little girl.