Happy Birthday Daddy

When I was but a wee tot,
you pushing me in a shopping cart,
down the slide, on the swings-
carrying me high on your shoulders
was enough to move my heart.

Then as a bratty child
baiting hooks, casting lines,
coaching my softball team
was enough for me, to believe
that you were my rock-
you would do anything for me.

As a teen, you cheered me on,
let go of my hand and watched me
hold my own.
It hurt to let go, but I hid it deep
and ventured through to adulthood
where I hoped once again
to relate with you.

I am blessed to call you father,
to have had you here,
every step of the way-
despite my lack of showing
appreciation that you deserve.
I love that, through it all,
you are still here.

Love you 🙂

The day it all came crashing down

Dad had surgery on Wednesday; he was supposed to return home Wednesday afternoon but did not and I wound up visiting him at the hospital, and secretly crying about the visit on the way home. No, his procedure was not for anything terminal. The tumor in his foot, while aggressive was benign and extracted with the greatest care possible. Some nerve damage might occur, but for the most part he will heal and be back to normal in a month or two. It still hurts to see my father incapacitated; I was always daddy’s little girl and while our relationship went from best friends to strangers in what seems like a night’s time, he will always be my father… I will always love him. Dads are supposed to be invincible, strong and able to handle anything. Seeing him unable to walk around without aid of crutch or steadying himself on the cabinetry is a little disheartening; his having to request assistance even though he’s fighting internally to ask for help because daddies do not need help just breaks my heart. But here I sit ready to refresh his glass of water or make him a bite to eat. It’s not hard, but it hurts just a little bit.
So, today while he was trying to be self sufficient, brushing his teeth in the bathroom sink and bathing, his crutch accidentally slipped and knocked the bathroom mirror off of the wall sending it crashing into the wall valve for the toilet. The piping cracked and water started gushing out, flooding the bathroom floor.
My mom and I were in the living room watching a movie. Our first thought was that he fell in the shower and he was hurt… My eyes were wide with panic and welling with tears already. My mom was shaking violently and was terrified to even open the bathroom door. In typical dad fashion he began shouting out orders to shut off the main water valve (as if my mom has a clue where it is), grab towels and pray to God the repairs do not cost us an arm and a leg. She was able to shut the water off and we soaked up the lake with beach towels and a really crappy old mop… the head was dry rotted I swear. Four hours later, I still have not been able to shower or brush my teeth because guess what, my dad, who is quite the handy man, is unable to fix the hole in the wall of the bathroom because he’s just had surgery!
Irony strikes again!