For some reason I haven’t figured out, I don’t feel like talking about Hurricane Ike yet. So even though I have many photos to share, I’ll put that on hold.
Today my father would have been ninety-four. His own father died when he was ninety-six. It’s not hard to imagine what our relationship would have been like if I’d had those additional decades with him. The older I got, the more I appreciated him. Both my parents warned me, when I was a surly young thing, that the day would come when I’d wish for time with them again. Fortunately, they did this with humor–they had once been children, too.
I’m lucky enough to have realized when my parents were alive that every parent and child are on a journey together. While no journey is without its pitfalls, every bump in the road or detour is not a disaster–just part of the trip.
In my study, there’s a picture frame with a photo of my father in it. Engraved into the wood is a poem by N.P. Randall, about whom I can find nothing on the Internet.
Every day of my life has been a gift from my father.
His lap had been a refuge from lightning and thunder.
His arms had sheltered me from teenage heartbreak.
His wisdom and understanding have sustained me as an adult.
Maybe this is a Hurricane Ike post after all.
Awwww… I love that picture.
Me, too!
Great pic — is your father the baby or the adult?
I’m the baby. I love the way I’m holding onto his hands while we both nap.
great photo
Thank you. =)
you must have had a wonderful relationship with your parents.
It was real–which means we had our bad moments. But I never doubted their love, and I know I’m lucky in that.
[squeezes Becky’s hand]
That is really a great photo.
Altho I found a great pic of my little sis with our dad from when she was a baby, which she has framed on her mantel, I don’t have any of myself with him around. I need to go dig through some boxes…
Thank you. I’d love to see your photos when you find them. =)
not just another day
Yes ma’am that is a hurricane post if ever I heard one……you know Becky, we took all the courses, read all the books, but nothing out there prepares us for stepping into the storm without holding someone’s hand…….
When Hurricane Charley roared through my island some four years back, our green Alabama selves were freshly Floridian and hurricane stupid. We didn’t even board up for the 185 mph winds that lashed at our double french doors and threatened to burst through.
Those three hours we spent, my husband and I, in the only real closet in our house. Along with 2 dogs and 4 cats. Barry’s feet actually stuck outside the closet door, there was simply not enough room.
And sitting there, listening to the wind and to noises I didn’t recognize, didn’t want to recognize, I clutched my childhood bible and a picture of my mom and dad. If I left this world, they were going with me. Barry clutched his cell phone and a bottle of Bush Mills. I told him we were cancelling each other out.
The wind passed Becky, and my ficus tree protected those french doors. Something did, someone did.
Wherever you spent your Ike hours, you weren’t alone. Girl your daddy wouldn’t let you out of his sight good; you think he’s gonna let something like death keep him from his baby during a hurricane ????
Re: not just another day
How terrifying–listening to that wind and all the other noises it brings is like nothing imaginable unless you’ve been through it. After touring the neighborhood, I understand now that a lot of what I heard was trees moaning as they were bent beyond what their strength could bear–and the crashing as they broke.
Thank you for the kindness in everything you’ve said. It was a nice surprise to see your name pop up here!
LOVE that sweet picture. 🙂
Apparently I didn’t have insomnia back then, huh?
“His lap had been a refuge from lightning and thunder.”
The very best way to remember a father . . .
And you can see that trust from the photograph.
Thanks for sharing.