Goodbye Daddy

Dear Daddy,

It’s been three months since you passed away. It’s hard to believe that you’re actually gone. We knew when we came back from Brazil this time that there could be the possibility of loosing you while we were here. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about you. I always thought that daddies lived forever. I know that this is not realistic, but I was hopeful. I’m glad that you didn’t suffer too much and were ready to “go home” when the time came.

Being your son had its ups and downs. Being the youngest of five children may have made it even more up or down, I don’t know. When I was younger, you were a hard man to be around and a harder father to get to know. As a kid, I starved for you to show that you loved me and when I first heard you say those three words, I didn’t believe you. As we got older we were both able to honestly say that we loved each other. I am glad that towards the end of your life saying “I love you” was no longer a struggle for you.

No father is perfect, you weren’t and I am not. However, I learned a lot from you. Some of what I learned from you I would never want to repeat as a parent, but there are many more things that I was glad that you taught me. You taught to take a risk in people, even if you get burned. You taught me that no matter the color of one’s skin, a person is a person to be valued by their actions and not their color. You taught me the importance of a man’s word was the same as his bond, to always tell the truth, even if there were going to be negative consequences. You taught me to appreciate nature, the environment, national parks and even rocks! You taught me to never meet a stranger and how when someone asks me what time is it, it’s OK to tell them how to build a clock.

You taught me some things inadvertently and these things became more a part of you as you became the “older, softer father.” I learned that it is important to not only show love to your children but to daily let them know that they are loved and appreciated. You taught me that it is more important to give a hug to everyone, instead of just a giving a handshake.

When I was a child, I always called you “dad” or “father”. When I became an adult I intentionally called you “daddy”. I don’t regret placing you into the role of an intimate daddy, instead of a formal father. As you got older, you became the daddy that I knew was there all the time, more patient, more loving.

I will and do miss you daddy. You are and forever will be a part of me. I see more and more of you in me every day and I get tickled because of this. I am proud to call you my daddy!

Goodbye for now, but I’ll be seeing you again some day. Hey, how about you be the one to show me around in my new heavenly home and introduce me face to face to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?

See you soon (well, hopefully not too soon).

Your loving son,

Jeff

My daddy never completely recovered from the second colon cancer surgery of May, 2009. He was in and out of home, hospital and the extended care facility. He finally died in the ER of one of the Grand Junction, Colorado hospitals. He went on to be before His Lord on Saturday, January 23, 2010.