Four Years Later

 

My Daddy was a great man. I say that with as much humility as I can, but he truly was of greatness. He was one of those people that chose simplicity because in simplicity there is kindness. There is warmth. There is love. He chose those things even though he had the mind of a genius, lighting wit, a star-appeal personality, and a very handsome face. There he is... sitting on the porch steps of the house he and my mother built with their bare hands after a long day of work outside. He's not smiling (which he did quite often), rather he's been caught in the solitude of his thoughts. He's undoubtedly mulling over the places he could have gone or the titles he could have held. But it seems he wanted to be a big fish in a small pond. Not because of his ego, but because he genuinely loved helping people. In a small pond, he had more chances to help and give of himself in the most meaningful of ways. Granted, he had his problems, and I'll tell you about those later. Right now, I just want to talk about how much I love him and how much I was shaped by him.

When Daddy died, it seemed everyone had a story to tell about how he had let them know in some way that he was fine, he was watching over us, and he was happy, except for me. It's been almost four years since we held his hands and watched him cross over, and I have had nothing but haunting dreams about the almost four year battle he waged against the consuming blackness that is cancer. I have had dreams that he was there, but he was sick. The house they lived in, the house of my youth, was in shambles, down to the frame and subfloor, and he was bed-ridden. I've dreamt he was skin and bones and being helplessly pulled along a dusty trail in a wagon. I've dreamt I found him in the bottom of a shower, shrunken, shivering, and drowning in the steady stream of the showerhead in his blue cotton pajamas. I have been relentlessly haunted by the memory and depth of the process of losing him, and until now I haven't been visited by anything hopeful in regards to his passing. Anything that felt like him.

A few weeks ago I felt like he told me why he hadn't worried about me. He knows I think like he does. I have an analytical mind and a good sense of humor. I love to help people and animals, and I would rather be able to help people in need than have all the money in the world. He knew that I wouldn't worry whether he was okay in the afterlife. I understand that the things he did for people are the chiefest of commandments and the greatest good we can do while on Earth. Losing him would prepare me to be strong for others during this magnitude of loss, and he knew that would make me feel connected to him. But I needed a visit of my own. I know that he is fine now, and I know that he is at peace. I needed him to acknowledge me and the pain that I feel in not having him around. It sounds selfish when I say that, but I grew up being comforted by him. I needed him to tell me that he sees my grief, and that he has never left my side. The grief I experienced while he was dying, when I saw his spirit being broken, when I saw his body give way to the disease, that grief was felt as he grew sicker and sicker. The grief I feel now is a desperate ache of missing him, and quite honestly, it's about me not being able to cope with the fact that he's not physically here anymore.

Well, until lastnight. Almost four years later, he decides to visit me. In my dream, I was at the Hackberry Community Center for some reason, and there was a party going on there. I was with John, and a lot of people I know from my home town were there. A lot of people I don't know were also in attendance. Daddy walked up to me out of nowhere and gave me a big hug. He was rosy-cheeked, walking upright, and dressed like I remember him. He was well. I immediately broke down in tears.

"Daddy!" I exclaimed through a wavering voice. "I've missed you so much."

"Hey, Julie Girl. I've missed you, too."

"Why did you wait so long?" I asked, almost in a whisper.

Without answering, he turned to the person next to us whom I don't remember. "This is my daughter. I haven't seen her since I died. But I see when she composes a text to my phone and doesn't send it. I see when she writes letters to me and stories about me in her journal. I've sat and watched her cry, and you wouldn't believe how much she misses me. I have the best kids in the world." His blue eyes looking deep into my own, he finished with, "I'm proud."

Turning to me, he gave me one last squeeze and that big smile of his, and he was gone. Just like that. But just like that, I am changed. Even though I desperately miss him still, I know he knows how much I love, respect, and appreciate him, and how much I know I've learned from him. I am SO much like him, and I needed someone like me to know the depth of my pain. I needed to feel like someone connected with what I feel in every way. And so I say to him...

Thank you, Daddy, for that visit. I'm not sure what the semantics are like in going from dimension to dimension, but thank you for giving me that. Thank you for telling me that you're proud. Proud. It still makes my breath catch in my throat. Next time, try not to wait four years. It wouldn't freak me out if you visited me from time to time and told me something I needed to hear. You are my Daddy, and even though you don't have any skin, it doesn't mean I need you any less. I love you.

Julie Girl