Anniversary. . .

I am convinced there is a vat in Heaven somewhere marked "tears" since the Bible does say the LORD saves all our tears in a bottle... Yeah, what a nice fat bottle he has for me... and I hope it is blue, fancy glass with a huge stopper... and I hope my sweet daddy, who collected bottles and glass and baubles, is taking care of it, too...

This is the post I have to write: the "year without Daddy post." One year ago, August 14th, at one o'clock he slipped away. I want to show you a few of his treasures. He loves showing what he's collected, and he loves meeting new people to share with. Telephone insulators, beautiful bottles, lightning rod balls... anything and everything phone related. He carried a picture of his treasure trove with him until it wore out; and then he whipped out a copy... and wore it out, too... We tucked yet another, newer copy inside his hand to show or look at ... or at least to make us feel better.

I have posted before that my dad loved to work, and I love to work, as well. However, our choice of things to work on is very different. Daddy could do everything from electricity to woodworking to very heavy labor. He could see what something needs in order to be fixed... and then fix it. So when the heavy rains pour in around our windows now, my mother cries. When a tree limb echoes to the ground, she cries... When the world crashes around about, she cries again... because her man could have, would have, and did fix it. I am not my daddy, of course, and I cannot fix anything really.... But I often try. To my pride and joy, I have replaced a fuse in a very confusing box of screw-in fuses..... and I have nailed a few things, swept clean a bit of rubble to create a clearing, and .... I have moved in with Mom. As you know, I gave up my beloved home (which was kind of the breath and soul of my daily round) and am here all the time. Whenever I'm tempted to wish I could do more like Daddy did, I think.. wait .... I am doing what I can.I could go on and on... There is no end to the respect, love, and devotion I have for Daddy. He was 84. He had a bad heart. He'd had a good summer. This is not Heaven, and we lose our family one by one. ... or we go on ourselves. While that concept probably isn't uplifting, it is peaceful and solid and true. But I recently found his favorite telephone jacket in a stack of clean clothes, so I nabbed it for me. It's in a basket almost underneath the far side of my bed. I don't plan to wear it, but I do love to pat it and smile when I'm hanging head-first off the bed, looking for my glasses or my cell phone or my Vicks jar... It's kind of a nice little surprise every time, and I think, "Yeah, keep on doing the little things and there won't be so many big ones." One of his sayings... and another one was this, "It's better than good." Yeah, Daddy, it is. I love you.