March 2026 Slice of Life, No. 24
In a couple days, in my heart, quietly, I will celebrate my dad’s birthday.
He has now been gone from us longer than he was with us.
The last day I was with him was my wedding day, the day he gave me to another man to have and to hold ’til death do us part. That was in June. He was sick. We all knew it. But we didn’t know how short his time would be.
On a hot, muggy June afternoon, Carl and I left our wedding reception. Family and friends gathered on the church lawn outside the reception room to send us off.
I felt my heart twist when my dad gave me a wordless bear hug and then a look of pride that was edged with a sad wistfulness. But I was so full of life. So full of dreams. So full of the future. His wordless hug and the deep feeling in his eyes quickly slid away from me.
We settled into my brother’s convertible, ready for the drive to O’Hare to catch a flight. In 24 hours, my new husband had to report back to duty; he had been given a 48 hour pass for our wedding — that was all you could hope for in a time of war.
I leaned out of the convertible and waved to my dad and mom… and others. They were all smiling and calling well wishes. Dad stood stalwart, handsome, arm around my mom’s shoulders. He smiled gently, and without a word, lifted his hand in a farewell gesture.
We pulled away from the curb and I turned to give one last wave goodbye.
I didn’t know I was waving a forever goodbye.
I didn’t know that moment would be my final memory.
I didn’t know that he was the one who would be leaving.
By mid-August I had signed a contract to teach. In a couple weeks I would attend new teacher orientation. That was when I received my brother’s call that Dad did not have much time left. I immediately began the trip home. The three hour drive to the airport. The five hour flight. The hour drive from my destination airport to my girlhood home. Before I could get there, Dad left us.
Though young, not yet fifty, Dad had finished his life race. And he had run it well.
He was a man of great faith.
He worshiped God wholeheartedly.
He read his Bible daily.
He believed in prayer.
He loved my mother.
He loved my brothers.
He kept his word.
He was always ready to help others.
He was always kind, fair, and strict.
And I, his only little girl, never doubted his love for me.
At the funeral home, with my four brothers, I stood beside my father’s casket and looked upon his form. In my heart, though broken with grief, I knew that he lived. That my forever farewell would not be forever.
during family vacation on a lake in Michigan
“For God so loved the world
that He gave his only begotten Son,
that whoever believes in Him
should not perish but have
everlasting life.” — John 3:16 NKJV
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