My Dad

When I was a child, my family lived on a dairy farm for several years.  My dad would leave to milk the cows at 4 a.m. and bring in a pitcher of milk each morning for our cereal.   My mom would ladle off the top layer of cream and put it in a separate bowl for my dad’s coffee.  My dad loved milk and drank 2 gallons a week his entire life, along with lots of cookies.

Anyone who has ever lived on a farm can tell you how incredibly hard the work is, from morning until sunset. My dad always worked physically hard to provide for his family and taught me to work hard for anything I wanted to achieve. We eventually moved to the city, but I still can smell the sweet bundles of hay that sat near our house.

My dad recently died at 84 years old.  He fell and broke his hip and needed surgery; his surgeon told us he would never walk again.  About a year ago, he started forgetting things; he would become disoriented and was easily agitated and anxious.  

Dementia is such a cruel way for anyone to go through at the end of their life.  It robs them of their memories, but we are all blessed to have a lifetime of memories of him.  I spent four days in the hospital with him, and he was agitated most of the time because he wanted to get up and walk out of the hospital, but he couldn’t stand or walk.

He was in and out of consciousness, and when he would wake up, he asked me why I wouldn’t help him leave.  He started praying out loud, “God, I don’t know why my daughter isn’t doing what I am asking her to do.  She has obeyed me her entire life; please forgive her.”   He couldn’t comprehend when I told him he couldn’t walk.  For my dad, not being able to get up and walk was incomprehensible; it was simply too much for his brain to decipher.

I spent four days in the hospital with him, and he was agitated most of the time because he wanted to get up and walk out of the hospital, but he couldn’t stand or walk.  I’m so grateful to have had that time with him.  He would break through the dementia fog and talk with me for hours.

He loved my candle business and, over the last 10 years, he volunteered in every capacity.  When he was in town, he wicked candle jars, trimmed wicks, and helped me deliver to wholesale accounts.  Sometimes he would be at an event with me, and I would bring a big, comfy camping chair for him so he could nap when he wasn’t talking to customers.

My dad was an incredibly funny, always kind, gracious, very generous, patient, and a chivalrous man who held every door open.  He loved meeting new people and having long conversations, asking about their families.  He taught me how to ride a bicycle and a motorcycle, how to fish, and how to play chess, but also the importance of listening to others.

He always believed in me, never doubted I could succeed in anything I tried, and loved all his kids unconditionally.  I am so grateful that he was my dad, and I will miss his laugh and the sound of his voice for the rest of my life.