“Come on Patsy, I have something to show you.” The voice filtered through the depths of my sleep. A hand shook my shoulder gently and strong arms lifted me and carried me outdoors. I shivered in my night gown, and the voice entreated me. “Listen.”
There were strange rumbling sounds. I peeked through my nearly closed eyelids. The sky was black and I could smell the scent of flowers on the deck. The rumblings grew louder and as the noise crashed down on me I jumped and whimpered.
“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, I am holding you. Look up at the sky … there did you see it?” The voice waited for my reply.
The darkness was shattered by bright feather-like strokes of light falling from the sky.
“What is it Daddy?” I asked anxiously.
“It’s a thunderstorm,” he replied. “But you don’t need to be afraid. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Together we watched my first thunderstorm. It was a special moment, one of many I was to share with my father through the short fifteen years I knew him…
A small puppy wiggled as I fondled his ears. “Who does he belong to?” Several of the children asked. No one knew. I gave it a small affectionate pat and then climbed onto my new bike. The seat was still too high for me to sit on, so I stood as I pedaled, weaving down the road and around the corner.
“Watch me, watch me,” I called to my friends on my return. But there were no admirers to share my delight. At the side of the road my friends were gathered around the now silent body of the small puppy and a white faced man knelt beside it.
“It got hit, it’s dead.”
My mind refused to believe it. Why only minutes ago it had been wagging its tail. Without a thought to my new bike I ran into the house weeping. The back door opened and strong arms lifted me.
“It’s all right sweetheart, I am here.” Then a quiet and saddened voice explained about life and about death…
Later that year I was to sing a song entitled If I Had Wings in the music festival. I was tired of practicing; then I saw my father’s blue eyes look across the room at me.
“Sing it as if you had wings,” he advised. Later the audience was hushed when I finished my solo, then there was a burst of applause.
I ran all the way home and laid a first place certificate on his lap.
“I knew you could do it,” he said with pride. “That’s Dad’s girl”…
I stood impatiently as Dad snapped the picture of me in my first long dress.
“No wait, I’ll take another,” he called and I stood as tall as my high heels and my five foot frame would allow.
Years later, I was to find the pictures that he had sent to my older brother, written on the back was, “Here’s a picture of your little sister. She’s growing up to be a pretty young lady.”
He had taught me so much, about the beauty of creation, about life and death and he had reached out across the barriers of time and death and given me one last hug.
