I am my father's daughter

I've been trying to write a note about dad for a couple months now. Not normally at a loss for words, I had trouble. But today dad seems closer, and it seems a little easier. It's a start.

Dad died two months ago to the day. It was not a "good death" in hospice terms, at least physically. So, in the days after his death, along with the grief and loss, there was also a sense of relief that his suffering was over, and he was in a much better place. Throughout his life, dad was firmly faithful in what I think of as an old-school, Wisconsin Lutheran, God-fearing-hell-and-damnation way. How glorious it must be for him now to know the eternal, gentle love of the Lord and Savior.

Over the past few years, dad declined in health and wholeness. There were signs of confusion, dementia. There was profound depression. And there was a marked physical loss of strength and mobility born of joint degeneration and pain, and forced inactivity. It angered him, and made him difficult to live with. It was difficult for all of us to watch the man who was the patriarch of such a large family slowly brought down by the realities of aging and multiple health challenges.

It's easy to keep these later-years scenes at the forefront of memory, and lose the man of my youth. The Wild Bill dad, legendary in the tales told by my older brothers of their childhood adventures and forays into mischief, rarely able to deceive the man who seemed to have eyes everywhere. The father who taught us all the importance of shooting straight, both with a rifle, and in life. The man remembered by hundreds of people who came to his visitation to share their stories, and their love. The larger than life dad, whose hunting adventures, card-playing genius, and bourbon drinking revelry included 4 generations of family and friends. The protective dad, ever worried about his only daughter, ever ready to stand between me and harm, to bail me out, and always just a little flummoxed as to what to DO with a girl! Dad had opinions, advice, expertise, and a lot of love, and he shared them all generously with those around him. That's the dad who shaped who I was, and who I was to become.

Which brings me to vacation. You see, dad was a planner. Whether it was a family trip, a yearly hunting expedition, or a Sunday afternoon drive, dad anticipated every possibility, made plans and provisions, then could not wait to get up and go!!! Today, we leave on a little family journey of our own. It's a vacation I've looked forward to for weeks, especially after the last several months. I am not the planner my father was. I am much more willing to fly by the seat of my pants, take a little detour if need be. But when my eyes popped open at 4am, and I was up like a kid at Christmas, I had to think of dad. He'd have been right beside me with the keys in his hand. And as I pack the car--an invaluable skill I learned from a man who was genius in his ability to get the maximum luggage in minimal space--I will remember the dad who shaped the heart in which he will always live on. And I will smile.