It was late August, 1995, and my dad was at home. Only he wasn’t puttering around, working on some household project. He wasn’t sitting at the breakfast table with his large-print Bible and magnifying glass, his glaucoma-strained eyes poring over God’s word. He wasn’t dozing in the recliner, snoring to the accompaniment of an A-Team re-run.
He was lying in a hospital bed set up in the TV room, asleep. In a coma, actually. He’d been fighting cancer for three long years and was spending his final days of the battle at home. The home where he and my mom had raised their two children. The home where he made dinner several nights a week, as he and mom traded evenings working at the ice cream store. The old farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania where my childhood memories were formed.
Dad (top right) and some of his army buddiesI’d been married for a year and a half and was living in Virginia with Chad. But when Mom called me with the news that Dad wouldn’t be with us much longer, I packed a suitcase and drove the six hours home. I’d seen dad a few weeks earlier, at a quick weekend meet-up with my family. He was weak, frustrated with all he could no longer do, and more than ready for some peace. So when I got home and saw him resting quietly, in a way, I was happy for him. There was no grimace of pain on his face. He simply slept.
Mom still had to keep the ice cream store running, since it was her only source of income. So I spent days by Dad’s bedside and nights working at the store so Mom could be home with Dad. I was in the process of re-reading the Chronicles of Narnia, so I’d read to Dad about Aslan and Lucy and the dwarves and the fauns. The hospice nurses would come and take care of his basic needs, and make sure that he was okay. Mom was focused on getting through each day – caring for her teenage son who still needed a father, keeping the store going, and watching her husband fade away.
My family at my high school graduationA few days after I got home, our pastor came to visit. He talked with me, made sure I was doing all right. Then he spent some time with Dad. As Dad lay quietly, his chest rising and falling with each breath, I could hear Pastor McMinn telling Dad that everything was going to be okay. “It’s all right, Bill. Your family is taken care of, they’re going to be fine. You can let go. It’s okay.”
The next night, August 24th, I served cones and sundaes to people eager for some relief from the summer heat. As the evening wound down, the bell on the front door jingled and a family friend entered the store. My first thought was, “Oh – it’s Nancy. I haven’t seen her in a long time.” But not even a second later, I realized that of course she wasn’t here for a frozen treat. She didn’t even have to tell me. I knew. And I knew Mom wouldn’t want me to hear it over the phone. She’d want someone there with me.
I locked up the store early that night and drove home behind Nancy. Although I felt the beginnings of grief, I was also flooded with relief for my father. Dad’s battle with cancer was over. And God had won – my dad was Home. Whole.
The next few days are a blur in my mind. My wonderful husband came up from Virginia the next day and did whatever was needed for my mom. He even took over my dad’s role of making ice cream cakes. Chad would tell you that they weren’t as nice-looking as my dad’s. But it wasn’t the evenness of the layers that counted – it was the kindness of Chad’s heart, his willingness to do whatever it took to help us get through. As far as I’m concerned, those ice cream cakes were perfect.
Walking me down the aisleHe’d been dealing with cancer for more than a year by this point
There’s so much more I could write. We got through the funeral. And we got through the days afterward. It’s been eleven years now, eleven years without my dad. I miss him, yes. I wouldn’t have wished a long, painful life for him, though – better that he is in a place without even a hint of cancer, a place where his eyes once again see perfectly, a place where he has energy and joy and most of all…the Lord. Right there, in person.
But the one thing that breaks my heart, the one thing that I think of in the late days of August every year…is that my kids won’t have the joy of knowing him in this life. And oh, how he would have loved them. He would have bounced them on his knee, told them corny jokes, tossed them giggling onto the bed long after I asked him to stop. He would have coaxed a giggle from L.. And he would have absolutely loved C.’s analytical, inquisitive mind, and the hilarious things that come out of his mouth. And I just know that my boys would have adored their Grandpa.
I don’t claim to know exactly how things are handled in Heaven. But I like to think that Dad can check on us every now and then. I like to think that he chuckled when C. told me I need to write better posts. And that he beamed on May 25th, when L. made his way into this world.
And Dad, if you happen to have a chance to peek over my shoulder at this, I just want you to know, I love you.
What a beautiful post! I cannot find the words to express how beautiful. From the heart….completely!!!
It seems that you and I have that day, August 24th, in common my Friend. Wish we could sit together for some hugs, a cup of coffee and a few tears. Tears of remembrance and joy.
Well, that one made me cry like a big baby, and I am sitting here at work.
better pull myself together
maybe we should take the boys to Scoopers and see if they are still making the icecream cakes correctly.
How beautiful Katrina! I’m gonna go phone my Dad right now.
Ok I am crying. I really don’t know how I will live when God decides it is time for my Dad to go home, I am such a Daddy’s girl.
Well, I’m crying now. That was beautiful. What a telling tribute to your father’s well-lived life.
Holding back tears here Katrina. I’m sorry your boys never got to know your dad in this life but I’m sure you have lots of him in you and I like to think that he (and others we love) are keeping an eye on us from Heaven.
Thanks for sharing your heart with us today.
Katrina, I don’t know you personally but I can say without a shadow of doubt that your Daddy would be very, very proud of you on this very day.
Hugs friend.
Oh, Katrina, that’s a really sweet remembrance. My prayers are with you on this hard anniversary, but I am happy that both he and you know true Peace and Rest.
The army picture sort of reminds me of C.. Do you think he resembles your dad?
And, by the way–va va va vooom to high school senior Katrina!
What a beautiful post and tribute to your dad.
Your comment that “God won” brought tears to my eyes because it made me think of a close friend who lost her husband to cancer a few years ago — he left her a widow at 31, with three little ones under the age of six. As he lay dying at home, my friend, her parents and his, and my father and another minister at our church surrounded his bed. When Bob drew his last breath, his father shouted, “CANCER, YOU DID NOT WIN! JESUS WON!” and they sang “Victory at Jesus” as they rejoiced that Bob had been healed.
Thank you for sharing your father with your readers.
Oh, that’s it. I am SOBBING. What a beautiful post, Katrina. Just heartbreaking and gorgeous and perfect.
Katrina, I have tears.
And I could so relate to this post. I lost my dad back in 1988. I also feel the tug at my heartstrings that he never got to know his little granddaughters.
You are so blessed with the memory of his walking you down the isle. I had to walk by myself and he never even got to meet my long-awaited love of my life. I, too, wrote a tribute to my dad in June, when I was remembering his passing…
(Also, I was also living in Virginia in August of 1995…that was the year we got married and he was stationed in Norfolk, about to shove off for a six month deployment.)
This was such a poignant post. I loved the pictures throughout the years!
Thank you for sharing!
Oh, P.S…
I hope you don’t mind too much, but I just tagged you for the novel meme! (Hope you haven’t already done it!)
Made me cry, Katrina. So moving. And I can understand that you must miss him most when you think of him never knowing your children. My husband’s father died six months before I met Rob. So I never knew him and Rob so regrets that his dad never knew me and our daughters. It is a comfort to know though that someday you’ll all be reunited.
{hugs} C
I was already crying and then I read southern girl‘s response and I’m crying again.
This is my first read at your blog – what a soft, precious opening post for me to read.
My husband lost his father a few years after that … cancer … and he too is with Jesus in his perfect body.
Praise God!
That was beautiful. I am very close to my dad and I can’t even think about the day I have to say a final goodbye. I don’t want to take these precious years for granted.
Katrina, that was such a beautiful tribute to your dad. I’m glad that you had a chance to say goodby to him. Even though my husband had been ill with Kidney disease, he died very suddenly & Tammy & I didn’t have a chance to say goodby that night. I too wish that he could have met my wonderful son-in-law & walked her down the aisle & had a chance to know our grandkids, but I know where he is & I know God has His timetable for our lives
ruth
Thank you so much, everyone – for your hugs, your prayers, and all the kind words. You made this day much sweeter!
I picked a bad day to read this–I think my “time of the month” is near, because I’m weepy. This really brought me to tears, so well written, and so great a tribute to that ice cream serving dad of yours.
I’m so blessed that Denise shared this on CWO today too.
Thank you very much for sharing the story of your dad and your love for him. I cried through the post, and not because I am weepy, but I have been there myself. Once in a while I think about my dad’s sufferings and it breaks my heart. I know that he is a much better place now, but I sure miss him.
Thank you again for sharing and the beautiful pictures.
I am new to your blog, found you on someone else’s blog…can’t remember who now but I just had to say this made me cry like a big baby too!