Daddy's Hands Were, Are Always There

My father passed away in 2014. I will never forget when we lost him. I had planned to go and see my parents in Colorado after I made a trip to pick up a cabinet in Oklahoma that I had purchased first. 

When my phone rang, I was instantly put in to shock mode. On the other end was news that I was not prepared to hear - my daddy was not in good shape and they had taken him to the local hospital. They had plans to fly him out to Amarillo, Texas.

My oldest daughter and I quickly changed course after picking up the cabinet and headed toward Amarillo. And then the plans changed. Medical personnel decided his condition was so dire that he would not be able to make the trip.

We started to change course again and head for Colorado and then we got more news - he was just minutes from being gone. My sisters had set up a conference call so we could all say our goodbyes. 

I pulled my car to the side of the road and pretty much everything from there was pretty much a blur.

What do you say to someone who has meant so much to you your entire life? Last words? Last feelings? And to know that you not only would be saying the last thing you would ever be able to say, but you would not be able to be there in person to hug his neck. To touch his hand. 

I was devastated. 

When they said he was gone. His last breath taken, I broke down even more. I was so very thankful my oldest daughter was with me. 

A feeling of being lost swept over me. What do I do now? My daddy was my rock. He was my confidant, my supporter, my cheerleader, my strength. The one who had always reassured me "everything would be okay" even when it felt like it wouldn't. He was everything to me. 

I was upset with myself for not being there. 

I thought back to a recent stay he had in the hospital. It was so quiet in the room – the only sound the very quick rise and fall of his chest as he finally drifted away in deep slumber. I slowly stroked his hand as I whispered to him “it will be okay”. It was then a sense of dejavu set in. I had been here before. Yet, it was somehow different.

I looked at his face, slowly going over each and every line. I smoothed back his silver gray hair and remembered. I had been here before. But then, it was I who lay in the bed and he sat quietly beside me in a darkened room, stroking my hand and reassuring me all would be okay. It was several years - yes, decades ago, a time I have tried so very hard to forget. A time of great pain.

I had been in tears for several days. I was unable to function – unable to care for my three children. I had called my parents to tell them what happened. My daddy immediately said, “do you need me to come?” 

A short time later, he was there and it didn’t take long before he had everything under control, giving me the chance to find the strength to get back up and go on. 

For a couple of days, he got my girls fed, saw to it they bathed and even fixed their hair for school. And he sat with me – no judgments, no words of “I told you so”. He just sat by my bed and let me grieve. He stroked my hand there in my darkened room and quietly told me over and over again it would be okay. He repeated those words until I was able to pick myself up and go on. And go on I did. 

Not once did he make me feel like I was a failure for not being able to “handle things”. Not once did he tell me “you should have known better”. He was just the strong, tower of strength I have always known. His very presence reassuring me my girls and I were not alone and this, too, shall pass. 

And then, that night, I found myself in the position he was for me so long ago, I felt helpless as I watched him sleep – looking intently to find that pillar of strength I knew so well. And yet, even in his weakened state, I could see he was still there. 

I intently looked again – there among the lines of worry and work that had taken their toll on him was the man I knew. The man who in spite of everything he faced in his then 83 years was still trying to be strong for his family. I looked down at his hands and a familiar feeling came again. His hands looked so much like his mother’s before him. And in those hands, I saw a man who loved his family with all of his heart, who worked from dawn to dusk to keep them fed. Hands strong enough to pick his children and grandchildren up when they were down and to discipline them when they got off the straight and narrow. Kind and loving hands which gave everything they had to give and more. Hands that wiped away tears and applauded triumphs. 

A daddy’s hands for sure.

Tears began to well in my eyes and as I raised my hand to wipe them away, there it was – even now, in his time of need, he was reassuring me it would be okay. A little squeeze of his hand on mine to let me know he was still there. That was so like him. Once again, he was taking care of me, in spite of how hard I was trying to take care of him. I knew then he wouldn't be here forever. None of us will.

So for that moment, I vowed to take each day we had and cherish each squeeze of his hand. 

I vowed to cherish each memory we had made, and those we would make in the days to come. I hoped and prayed he knew how much he meant to his family and that his life time of lessons had not been on deaf ears, even though some times I know he thought we weren’t listening.

I began to stroke his hand and whispered “it will be okay daddy”. And once again, felt the reassuring squeeze of his hand. The nurses came in to the room to check his vitals and before leaving, one turned and said, “your dad is so easy to take care of – he never complains”. 

Yes, he left his mark again. The mark of a quiet, strong man who even though he has gone through enough in his lifetime to have earned the right – does his best to make sure he has not added to someone else’s burden. Through the days he was in that hospital, the old sparkle showed up from time to time and he would be in rare form as he teased his caregivers, especially the ones he jokingly dubbed “physical terrorists” who came to see him. 

And then, that day in 2014, he was gone. 

Thank you daddy….. thank you for being the kind of man who could be counted on, not counted out. The kind of man who is there for others in their darkest hour. Loving, good-natured, loyal, strong – a teacher, mentor, friend and so much more. A man who was not just a father, but is the best daddy a kid could have. You were and always will be our rock and we all love you to the moon and back.

I still talk to him now, and I feel his loving hands on my shoulders saying, "it will be okay."

Daddy’s hands have always and will always be there to let us know – it will be okay.