Someday has reared its ugly head. It always seemed like Someday was a permanent resident of some distant, foggy, realm...never to cross into the land of reality. I am still struggling to believe that my last words to Dad were, "I'll see you in two weeks!"...no shadow of knowledge that he would be gone the next day...no special moments marking the last last time we would hug and kiss and speak together...no lingering to drink in the way he looked and talked and joked his lame one-liners...no chance to hear once more the stories and memories of his growing up days, his brother who died at the hand of a sniper after the Battle of the Bulge, another brother who was in China with Chennault and the Flying Tigers, Gramma's struggle to raise her nine children alone after Grampa died when Dad was a month old...
I know Dad wasn't perfect - in fact had some glaring faults, but HE WAS MY DAD. I won't have another. He worked two jobs while I was growing up to give me a home; he loved my mother with everything in him. When I was young, I would follow him from project to project so eager to hand him the screwdriver or hammer before he had to ask for it, or pound in the nail with fewer strong, accurate swings, or climb the rafters fearlessly to help nail them. Dad's approval was important to me; I needed it and got it the best way I knew how. It didn't always come easily; in fact sometimes it seemed impossible, but I couldn't quit trying, following his rules, going above and beyond whenever I could see an opportunity, and somewhere along the way I would strike gold again and bask in his approval. Dad didn't mean to be that way; it was part of what he knew and he just couldn't seem to come to grips with a different way...Anyway, I loved him. He was my dad.
Dad, I miss you. Home isn't the same without you puttering here and there - going out to check mail, taking care of the chickens, calling mom's attention to the birds at the feeders, making a pot of coffee, reading your magazines in the sunroom, napping with your mouth open "catching flies", loving up Dazzle, asking mom for a pie, baking bread - oh! your yummy, fresh baked bread! - I finished the last piece of your last loaf the other day; you made it the day before you died; thank you for that. I have the grocery list you were working on when you died; I had to keep it, to run my fingers along it, knowing it was one of the last things you did, as if it brings you back in some little way...I love you, Dad.
So, Someday came on June 10th and now I know that Someday is real.
