It's the Little Things

My Dad was a man of his faith. And this was a good thing, it really was. But one thing he believed was that we should not color our skin. He was not a fan of my tattoos. But he came to a place of acceptance. And about three weeks before he left us, he and I were holding hands (as we've done so many times in the last months), and his poor hand was all discolored from blood beneath the skin. And he said, "Look, now we match!" It was a small thing. But today as I share this, it brings me a smile. These so called "small things" are so very cherished today.

Dad's funny stories and his big heart and his fierce determination. He was a fighter. And he was an earth lover. He would say that he loved the One who created this all. And that is also true for me. But I know that when I am in nature, when my bare feet can touch the ground, when my face can be kissed by the sun, that is when I am truly grounded. And I know simply from knowing my Dad and being in his presence, that this would be true for him as well. He was not a barefoot guy. But his heart and soul belonged in the great outdoors.

Some stories are not meant to be shared by me. Because even though they mean so much to me, they aren't actually my story to tell. So in due time, when those who own the stories, are in a place to be willing to share them, then I will share them from where I sit.

So in all of this, my dad showed his true colors, his true love, and how to be the love of a lifetime. He showed how much he needed my Mom, how much he loved her, and he was a perfect example of a loving husband. This was not always so. And this is something that goes both ways. I have never before said that I would like a marriage like the one my parents shared. But now, here, in the end, I can say that. I can say, at the end of my life, I want to be so deeply engrossed in the love of another human being that I become calm at the sound of their voice, that I feel safe when they are near, that I ask for them when they are not with me. Someone that I know so well, that I can accept their differences, their quirky faults, those things that are shortcomings and so unique to the person that it would be easy to grow impatient. I can now say, my Dad was an example of what I do want. Is this a small thing? It is no small thing. It is big really. It is a transformation. I am swelled with pride for him (and mom too) that they have come into their marriage at long last (they were 57 years into it).

So my Dad's love for the outdoors and his avid interest in hunting, was in the end, the thing that killed him. On the opening day of rifle season for deer, December 4, my dad was in a serious 4 wheeler accident. He wrecked the 4 wheeler, on his way to the deer blind, and the 4 wheeler landed on his left side. He lay in the road for a time. It's not actually known how long he lay there. But when the ambulance came, they realized that all his ribs were broken on that left side, as well as his collarbone on the left side and a punctured lung and a brain bleed. The paramedics didn't even believe he would live to the ER, let alone survive his transfer to the trauma unit at the hospital in Wichita. One of the times I visited Dad in the ICU after this wreck, he said to me, "I know Mom thinks I'm going to sell my 4 wheeler, but I don't think so!" This brought some laughter to the situation. This is one of those "little things" that isn't actually a little thing, because it totally describes my Dad.

Today I have so many "little things" that I cling to.