Eight

Eight years ago tonight, I was running wild with my campers through the grass. We had a late night in the pavilion and were headed to our cabin for pizza. I had survived a few crazy teen weeks and was enjoying this week of younger, sweeter girls. I had been sharing a cabin with another counselor for the summer, but that was the day she went home. My campers were busy in a hot afternoon sun when I ran to grab my phone and make a quick call home. Those were very unusual for me.....for that summer. I wasn't homesick. I wasn't lonely. But for a providential reason, I called home. We talked about my week....their day. I heard everyone's voice. But unknowingly, it was the last moment on this earth that I was able to hear his. I debated blogging about this. Afraid I was sharing someone else's tragedy. Something private. But it's my story, too. Words help to heal my wounds. And so I write. The glass globe in which I lived had only suffered small scratches thus far. I remember telling my mother at the age of 14 that she was ruining my life by teaching me at home. :) There were the phone calls to boys to end relationships. The most severe thing that had wrecked my existence up until this point was the death of my grandmother. I had never experienced death before. I was only 9 years old and I remember crying night after night.... for months. That phone conversation on August 7th, 2003 wasn't exceedingly long. Looking back I wish that I had never hung up the phone. Or that I hadn't been so embarrassed of my unusually strong relationship that I shared with my parents. I may have called home more often.... But who does that? What 19 year old genuinely enjoys the company of her father? Or desires to be with him just as much as anyone else on the face of the planet? I knew that wasn't normal. The life of my friends and peers confirmed it. Isn't God's mercy incredible? That I could endure an entire summer void of middle-of-the-week calls home..... but not this day? This was the day I called home. I slept well that night. August 8th was hot. So much so that they decided to completely arrange a new camp schedule and include a morning swim! I swam with my girls early, and was standing in the pavilion waiting for the change of events when he found me. One of the camp directors. He looked quiet, but not at all emotional. He told me that my grandfather was in the camp office and needed to see me. He must've motioned the counselor that I was talking with to follow me, because I could sense her presence not too far off during that long walk back down the road. Have eight years truly come and gone? Eight years since I've heard his voice. Eight years from the day I heard those words and collapsed in that chair. It's been eight years, and I have never once stepped foot into that camp office again. Eight years since I sat quietly as a passenger in my grandfather's car as he took me home to face my new reality? Eight years since I cried in the arms of my new love until four in the morning just muttering the words "my heart hurts. my heart literally hurts. I just want it to stop hurting....." If I could express to you my love for him, or my perception of his perfection, I would. Oh trust me I would. Never has a daughter loved her father more. Never has a young woman held another man in such high esteem. By God's mercy He allowed me to have 19 years with him. By God's mercy I know without a shadow of a doubt that because of a decision he made at the age of 18 to trust in God ALONE for his salvation, he is in the tender care of my Heavenly Father at this very moment. And by God's mercy He allowed us to share a very unique relationship. One of father-daughter, but also one of best friend and confidant. I cannot express my deep pain. But I also lack the words to express my deep gratitude to Him.