Well, today is the first day of school. I always drive my kids each morning and pick them up at the end of their after-school sport's practices. It is a great time for us all to pray together for each other and for others who are in need of prayer.
I am a little sad, as I am remembering my dear father on his birthday. He passed away 20 years ago from lung cancer. If he was still alive, he'd be 100 years old today. He was the best father in the world, and the hardest working man I've ever met in my life. He was a farmer, and he had a custom farming business. Not only did he do his own work, he did the work of everyone else in the surrounding towns who needed various jobs done. I honestly don't know how he found time to do it all. I remember praying each night that he'd have time to get all his work done. He'd arise and leave at the crack of dawn, whistling all the way, as he'd drive his tractor down the road to someone's farm, pulling whatever tool he needed for that particular job. Then he'd work long hours into the night on his own farm. I can still see the tractor lights in the field in my precious memories. My mother would always make him a sandwich wrapped in wax paper for lunch and brought a powdered sugar donut, or slice of jelly roll. She had made instant coffee in a glass bottle that used to be a Nestle coffee jar. We'd bring it to whatever farm he'd be working on that day. Most days we'd have to sit and wait for him for a bit, as he wanted to make 2 or 3 more rounds before stopping to eat. Sometimes I'd hop out of the car and ride along on those rounds. He loved to show off his farming skills, whether combining, baling, plowing... but I know he loved to have me spend time with him. I can see him kneeling down on one knee by the open door of the car, wiping the sweat off his brow, conversing with my mother. One of the saddest moments of my life was a week before he died. He knew he was dying, but decided to change the plow points on his plow. I helped him, as he was on oxygen and it was too hard for him. We both knew it would be the last thing he would do on the farm, and it was a very solemn time for both of us.
Dad had lost his right hand in a farming accident with his corn picker when I was 12 years old. It was amazing how he continued to work all those years with his left hand, and a hook where his right hand used to be. And to top it all off, he was right-handed, which made it twice as hard.
I am posting a picture of him "on vacation" in Florida. Mom and Dad had a motorhome which they truly enjoyed, and would go to Sanford, Florida in the wintertime. Dad, of course, couldn't just rest down there, so he took a job in the groves, shaking oranges. He just loved operating farm equipment. It was his passion in life.
My dad was so tickled that Mike and I had all these kids. Some of you know we have been blessed with 14! He confided in one of the ER nurses on one of his many trips there, that he knew I was born to have kids. He said, "You should see them when the door of the house opens in the morning. They're just like bees! They just keep comin'!!!!" Hahaha He was such a joker! I miss him so much.
The saddest moment of my entire life was the day we called the ambulance for him. He knew he was never coming back home. The volunteer firefighters had him sitting in the wheelchair in the living room, and were all set to wheel him out. He turned to my mother who was standing there in her purple bathrobe, and took her hand in his left hand, shaking it up and down twice, saying, "Goodbye, Duck". She had been plagued with Alzheimer's Disease some years earlier. "Duck" had always been his favorite nickname for her. (In years' past, a lot of the menfolk used to refer to their wives as "Hen", so he had customized her nickname, making it special in a special way only they would understand. After saying his goodbye in the best way he knew how, he turned his face like flint towards the door, reached up to pull down the brim of his hat, setting it straight as if on a mission, and set his will to leave his wife...his farm...his life. The memory of that moment is etched in my mind and I will never forget it as long as I live. I thank God for giving me such wonderful parents. Indeed, they had a hard life together, which began with a son who had cerebral palsy. ( My oldest brother, Tommy, died at 20 years of age from pneumonia, when I was 3 and my baby brother was a year old.) Most of my own children remember their grandpa, and how much he loved them. I am hanging onto that "blessed hope" that I will see him again, in glory. Thank you Dad, for always loving me and taking such good care of us all. I will always love you.
