This visit to the time machine was hard.
A number of years ago, just after our son was born, my parents came to visit and see the new member of the family. My dad wanted to see what we’d made. My wife handed our son to me, and as I put my dad’s grandson into his arms, I could feel how he’d held me when I was that age. I could sense the love, the care, the overwhelming urge to protect this little bundle of life with every fiber of his being – and see he knew that he would not be able to do that, all while he struggled, in that moment, to understand the balance of holding on and letting go.
And then – as if to put that to rest, just as that thought crossed dad’s mind, my son reached up and held onto dad’s finger, the one that still had the scar from the table saw incident a few years earlier.
And dad loved it, and let his grandson hold his finger at the beginning of his life, long before he taught him what pulling it did (and the giggles that followed)
And my memories flashed on another image tacked up on the scuffed walls of the time machine.
It was a similar situation, 9 years later – as I stood at my dad’s hospital bed, and saw my son again holding my father’s hand…
Well, actually – they were holding each others hands. In this case, my dad held onto his grandson’s hand one last time.
And I’m glad he had those 9 years – though that last year was so hard.
Tomorrow it’ll have been 16 years that he’s been gone, living on in our memories, in our laughter, in our tears.
And… and I still miss him…
Take care, folks – oh – just a reminder – love the folks you’ve got while you’ve got them.
8 comments
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October 27, 2016 at 5:10 pm
Bob Lammers
Your closing statement is so very true. I still miss my dad who died 20 years ago. But I’m so very grateful for all those years he was in my life.
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October 27, 2016 at 5:13 pm
tomroush
Funny how we think things get easier, but they don’t. You just get used to the ache. And some days, like anniversaries and the like, you remember them more. My condolences, Bob.
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October 28, 2016 at 2:08 pm
Francis Stanisci
Images are so powerful. And when the story behind them is so touching those images become even more powerful. I live IN the memory of my father. My business is what he did for a living for over 50 years. Everyday I’m reminded of something he taught me, or something I simply watched him do. At home I’m reminded every time I step into the garage. Again because of things he taught me, and things I learned merely from observation. I did NOT have a good bond with my father. I have no issue accepting or acknowledging this. But I still owe him for all I know and do, and love him still in spite of OUR shortcomings. Now I need a hanky. Tissue will have to do.
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October 28, 2016 at 3:39 pm
tomroush
The thing is, Francis, we all miss our dads – either who or what they were – or who or what we wish they had been – and sometimes a little of both.
The reminders come suddenly, unexpectedly – and they remind me that we all leave reminders – for good or ill – for our children and loved ones.
Hmm… more pondering…
And – I’m fresh out of hankies here – but you might have some tools to make yourself a few… 😉
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October 29, 2016 at 12:14 am
Tim Radney
Beautiful memories.
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October 29, 2016 at 9:21 am
Annette M. Sullivan
Amen
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October 28, 2017 at 11:34 am
Rob Jones
Simple. Crushing. Eloquent.
Thank you.
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October 28, 2017 at 11:35 am
tomroush
Thank you Rob
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