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Dad's hands. There's something about them that plucks at my heart. Those hands would buff our shoes to a bright sheen, outline the soles with black polish and line them up on newspaper to dry for church the next day.
Sitting beside him in the oak pew, his weathered hands turned the pages of the hymnal, his simple, gold wedding band catching the light streaming through the stained-glass windows.
His hands were always busy baling hay, milking cows, tearing down buildings and putting them back up, steering the wheels of trucks into the city, bathing children, signing checks, bandaging cuts, throwing softballs, picking morels, casting a fishing line into surf as the sun rose over the Atlantic.
Some Funny Memories Too
Where did those years go, I think as I sit with him now, remembering the good times and laughing with my brother and sister as we talk about his past antics, tales we exchange on the phone and around tables, all of us amazed at the way Dad believed he could do anything and get away with it.
An air of indestructibility was part of his nature, the time he waved off a highway patrolman getting ready to write him a ticket, the day he dug a trench in our backyard and almost put the Ditch Witch into the lake, the morning he set a field on fire and scorched the soles of his shoes when the wind came up and the fire got away from him. That fiasco prompted a call to my brother, "Bob, get out here right now."
As he got older and continued to do things we were sure would lead to injury, I stood on the sidelines reciting prayers under my breath, knowing there was no stopping him. The Lord kept him safe, but now the clock is running down.
Others Understand
We have support in this gradual process of grieving the loss of the father we once knew. When I'm out and about, I hear about others' parents, so many of us are in the same boat. A doctor friend reminded me of that a couple of weeks ago; his dad passed away recently after a long illness. With a brief hug the doctor whispered words of comfort in my ear, "You may think you're alone, but you're not."
And so once again it will be people whose hands we hold who will make all the difference, family and friends who will usher us through the hard times, lead us down the thorny path they've already traveled.
Along the way, we'll continue to remember, to exchange stories and to hold the hand of a man who guided us through life and taught us so much along the way.
