Memories of My Dad

Sunday is Father's Day in Australia and thinking about my dad made me feel nostalgic. I miss him and I miss his kind, capable hands. Those hands that fixed broken toys and anything else that needed mending.

The love a daughter has for a dad is kind of different from all other types of love. Maybe because of my memories I am becoming teary, so bear with me as  you read this.

There are so many things I'd have liked to have shown him. So many things I could have shared. And he would have truly enjoyed spending time with his grownup grandson.

At odd times I have even dreamed that he hadn't really died. And in the dream I was so overcome with joy...and then sadness swamped me when I began waking. He was only 58 when he left us.

Oh, but I will see him again some day. That's the wonderful peace we have when we know the Lord. And dad, though he wasn't a speaker, would write copious notes in his bible. And I still have that old dog-eared, but well loved bible.

We didn't own a car when I came along and we'd walk about a mile to catch the tram to go to town. When my chubby little legs grew tired, dad would hoist me onto his shoulders. Funny how I could remember a simple thing like that! Several years later when dad bought his first old bomb we were so happy. It was a Willy's Overland with a rumble seat where other cars had the trunk. I was the proud owner of that seat. Never mind the wind whistling through my fringe and plaits as we chugged along at 25 mph.

Thank you Lord though our days are short down here, we will be with You and our loved ones forever.