Memorial Day and My Dad

       I hope everyone had an enjoyable Memorial Day yesterday. I know some of my family members got together and visited cemeteries. Mom was surely seated beside my dad's gravesite for a portion of the day. My husband and I had friends over for a BBQ. At times throughout the day I thought of my late father. Not because he sacrificed his life in the armed services, but because he served during wartime. My dad (pictured below) sacrificed years as well as a portion of his emotional well-being to the things he witnessed in war. I feel for our servicemen and women, and I thank them all for their sacrifices. They are our protectors and heroes.

This Father's Day

THIS Father's Day

"A father’s success greatly depends upon his ability to love and be loved."

     This Father's Day will be the first I celebrate without my dad. He passed away in a hospital earlier this year at the age of 81. I miss him. His last days were not pleasant; he fought pain and dementia. It was hard to have him leave this world, though none of us wanted to see him continue on in pain.
     I am grateful for the positive things my dad taught me while he was alive: to have integrity and self-confidence, to be kind to others, to work hard, and to never give up no matter how difficult things get. No, he was not a perfect parent, but neither was I. The two important things we have in common are that we tried to do the very best we could for our kids within our circumstances, and we both love our kids completely and unconditionally. I know my dad loved us. He loved his wife, his kids, his grandkids, and great-grandkids with a big heart. I am grateful for that love.
     We indeed feel a person's absence strongly, and we appreciate a relationship much more after the fact. So, for those of you who still have a loving father on this earth, spend some time with him. Appreciate his presence in your life now. Give him a hug, a call, a bit of your time. A father who loves you and tries his best is a precious gift.
     Happy Father's Day to all the hardworking, loving fathers out there and to the ones we miss who watch over us from heaven.

―Richelle E. Goodrich

A Little Comfort

    Losing a loved one is painful. I am certain that those who have experienced this kind of loss feel a pang in their hearts at the mere mention of it. Grief—that aching bruise—never heals. It may improve over time, or perhaps, one just grows numb to it. 

     I recently said goodbye to my father.

     Dad was 81 years old. He died while in the hospital. There were numerous contributing factors, but Covid was the culprit that first got him admitted to a room on the top floor of med-surg. He remained a bedridden patient for two-and-a-half months after his recovery from Covid, mainly due to diminished strength and the need for antibiotics to fight an internal infection. Diabetes and dementia complicated his health issues. 

     We were lucky to celebrate Dad's 81st birthday with him in the hospital, blessed that day to find him in good spirits and mentally aware. We brought him his favorite carrot cake, read messages from his birthday cards, and presented him with a music box that played his favorite classic country songs. The opportunity to see him celebrate this birthday was a gift to us. Dad passed away in his sleep two weeks later.

     I know that even in heartbreaking situations there are blessings to be recognized and appreciated. One of my dearest blessings is my husband—a kind, compassionate, and gentle man who concerns himself with my feelings. He did not disappoint on the day my mom phoned to deliver the news that Dad had passed through the veil into Heaven. 

     We were away from home when the call came. Shortly afterwards, we found ourselves inside a large Buc-ee's gas station. There were snacks, drinks, sandwiches, souvenirs, clothing, and a variety of other items to purchase inside. While I was looking for something to drink, my sweet husband wandered off and then returned with a small, stuffed teddy bear in his arms. It was called a Gifting Bear, and it had one ear sewn from a different material than the rest of its furry body. This corduroy ear was unique for a reason specified in the instructions that came with the bear. 

"Whenever you need a little comfort, a little safe, a little brave, just whisper in my ear and hold me tight. I'll be here for you."

     

     A week plus has passed since my dad's funeral. It was such a turbulent day, I found it impossible to grieve. Following the funeral, days were spent accepting visitors, seeing family off to the airport, filling out necessary paperwork, getting finances in order, etc. It was not until my recent return home that I found a few quiet hours alone and sat down to fully comprehend the realness of my dad's passing.

     That soft, furry teddy bear was in the room with me and had already become a symbol of my dad. So, I took it in my arms and spoke into its little corduroy ear, and with tears, I whispered everything I wanted to say to my father. I felt the shawl of grief that had been denied me at the funeral, but I also felt the most tender reassurance that my words were heard and appreciated. 

     Someday, I too will pass through the veil and step into Heaven to be reunited with my dad again, along with other loving family members who preceded me in death. Until then, my little Gifting Bear sits on my writing desk and allows me to whisper to him whenever I need comfort or safe or brave. That is exactly what my dad used to give me on bad days. I miss him.

Love and Sorrow in the Same Hour

      My family and I are dealing with the recent hospitalization of my father, which turned into a search for long-term care. He is a Vietnam Veteran with a purple heart, but finding a place for his care is turning out to be extraordinarily difficult. My father suffers from dementia as well as a number of physical health problems that keep him bedridden. The doctors recently suggested we consider hospice. 

     It is crazy how through all of this I have found my emotions fluctuating like a yo-yo, shattering at some bit of painful news and then swelling with love and appreciation in the same hour. Such has been the case for a few weeks now. It seems to me that the human heart was made both to break and to mend in order for humanity to effectively experience a vast range of emotions. We feel both pains and pleasures, developing in the process a true capacity for empathy. I love my dad while at the same time I feel deep sadness for his present circumstances. 

     Life gives us joy, and it gives us misery. It does so for everyone. And thank heaven, for it is what makes us human.

                                                

Happy Father's Day

Dad, Richelle, Mom

     Over the years I've learned many things from my father. He has been there for me and my boys throughout our lives. I am grateful for his hard work, his generosity, and some lessons learned. Here are probably the top ten things I learned from him, last to first:

10. Coats belong in the closet. Salt and pepper belong on the table.
9. Everything should be celebrated afterwards with ice cream.
8. You don't pick the winning team in football based on their jersey colors.
7. YES, you can do anything, but NO, you're not better than anyone else.
6. Parents don't flap their jaws just to hear themselves talk.
5. John Wayne is king, ruler, chief, icon, superhero, and the last real man to have set foot on this earth.
4. The world is full of opinions; yours is the one that matters most.
3. There are a lot of idiot boys my age.
2. If you can't look yourself in the eye standing in front of the mirror, you better fix the reason why.
1. No matter what—you are loved. (Unless, of course, the salt and pepper don't make it to the table.)

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!!

I Learned from my Father

      Lately, my house has been a frenzy of graduation prepping, picture taking, formal ceremonies, and congratulatory parties. I am blaming all of this wonderful craziness for allowing Father's Day to sneak up on me. So here I stand on the threshold of Father's Day, realizing I have yet to write down any personal thoughts. No better time than the present.

     It seems to me that much of what we gain from a father—what we learn from him—comes through observing the way he lives his life. What I wrote two years ago I still believe to be true.

"The greatest lessons I learned from my father didn't come from lectures or discipline or even time spent together. What has stuck with me is his example. From watching, I chose whether to be or not to be like him."
— Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway

     Example is a mighty teacher, but that was not all my father offered me. He was good for words of advice that fell from his mouth more than once. One of his top maxims helped solidify my self-confidence at a young age: "Do your best and nothing less." He told me this when I first started school, and I took those words to heart, believing on some internal level that it was my duty. As a result, I put forth my best effort in school and in developing budding talents. That full effort to "do my best" made my accomplishments more impressive than they might have been otherwise. In the process, I earned compliments and recognition that bolstered my developing confidence. Thanks to my father, I have seldom considered any goal above my ability to achieve.

     Another repeated word of advice I heard often was "Don't waste your time worrying about what other people think of you. So long as you can look yourself in the eye every morning with a clear conscience, that's all that matters." I will admit, criticism and praise both affect me. Words have that power over most human beings. But this advice from my father did help develop a most unique and useful ability. I take criticism and hold it apart from me like a book which I read and evaluate and then toss aside if my own opinion differs. Likewise, I have learned to treat praise in a similar manner, appreciating kind words but then setting them aside rather than internalizing what might puff up my ego. My father taught me to form my own opinions and to be true to them. People will enter and exit my life, but I am eternally stuck with me. So, as Shakespeare declared, "To thine own self be true." I do not mean in an egotistical or selfish manner, rather showing sincerity and goodness to oneself. The same as you show to others.

     I recall one day coming home from work—one of my first jobs after high school—and grumbling to my father about how difficult the work was and how my boss wanted a greater amount of production from me than I felt able to give. I wanted to quit. And why not? I was unhappy. The job was a menial position that could easily be replaced by another. Why return to more days—weeks—months of having to endure criticism from a grumpy boss? My father set the bar for me at that moment, one I would sustain for the rest of my life. He said, "You don't quit. Struggling at work, being unhappy, feeling disliked, enduring rebuke, or any other hardship that might come along is no excuse to quit. You get in there and you work hard. You make yourself reliable and teachable and available. And after all of that, if they fire you then fine—they fire you at your best. But you don't quit."

     So I went back to my lousy job and did as my father said. I worked hard. I learned to move faster. I found ways to make better use of my time. By the end of that year, my grumpy boss promoted me to assistant supervisor overseeing the other workers. I was given the task of scheduling hours and granted the power to fire and hire employees in certain positions. My father taught me that rewards do come to those who stay the course and endure well. You don't quit.

     There are many other things I learned from my father, other words of advice that helped shape my character. I won't list them all. I think I turned out alright by him. So I would like to say "Thank you, Dad" for the valuable lessons. I love you and wish you a very happy Father's Day.

Dear Dad

Father's Day 2013

Dear Dad,


You probably don't remember how once when I was a young woman you gave me a letter. It was written in black ink on a folded up piece of lined paper, your own angled penmanship. It wasn't a long note, taking up only one side of the page, but it lacked nothing.

I still have that letter, Dad.

Why have I kept it all these years, you ask? Because the sentiments contained in those handwritten words forged a treasure I'd long chased after. It was a pearl you handed me, and to this day its worth remains as great.

Perhaps it is the same with others, perhaps not, but it seems to me that as children we crave from our mother her love most of all—absolute comfort, affection, and acceptance. But from our father it is his approval so desperately sought after—honest praise, acknowledgement, and affirmation. We run crying to our mother when things go wrong, 'Mommy, Oh Mommy!', trusting that she will do everything in her power to make it all better. However, when things go right—when we seek affirmation for a job well done—it is our father we look to. 'Do you like it, Daddy?' 'Are you well pleased?'

That stamp of approval is not always easy to come by. It is something to be earned. Maybe that is why, like a pearl, it is a treasure to cherish.

And so, Dad, I do carry that letter with me even years after raining tears of joy over the initial reading. It empowered me then, and it empowers me still today when I read those words of acknowledgement and approval...and love.

Thank you for believing in me.
Thank you for being proud of me.
Thank you for bolstering me.
And especially, thank you for taking a moment to compose that rare but invaluable letter and letting me know. It still means the world to me.

I thought you should know.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.