Well, we're coming up the 2nd year anniversary of my father's death, October 5. Ugh, I hate the thought that I now focus more on the day he died then the day he was born.
Due to our schedule, it turns out we'll be visiting my mom's this weekend anyway. Its awkward and I don't know how you acknowledge someone's loss in a way that shows them respect without making them feel like you're digging up serious pain. Do you get a card? Flowers? Does it just make it all feel like you're reminding them again?
Of course for my mom, it feels like it happened 2 months ago and not 2 years ago. I am always amazed how much my life changed in those 2 years. Two years. Two years and its strange to think my father has missed out on what feels to me to be some of the best years of my life to come. And isn't it just like me to turn my thoughts of the anniversary of his death into it being about me.....
I miss him, but not the man that died. I miss the man who was my childhood Daddy. I don't like to think about him, not because its painful that he died, but I get extremely uncomfortable about what I know the truth of the Bible says. Its truth and yet sometimes I can't get that reality wrapped about my brain. I don't know certain things for sure, and I couldn't and can't change things, but eventually one day I'll know.
They say that our fathers have a direct impact on how we view and perceive our heavenly Father.
I do have to say that despite his anti-God raising ways as I was growing up, there were many things my dad did that God used to show me His character. My father was a gift giver. Does that surprise those of you who have gotten a gift from me? I am a gift giver. I sometimes think I enjoy giving the gift more than the person receiving it. That was my dad. No Barbie Dream House assembly required was too much of a match for him. Perhaps he spoiled me now and then, but isn't that how our heavenly Father is? He is always, always waiting for the opportunity to bless us.
"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! "(1 John 3).
My father was consistently there. He went to work, came home by 5, ate dinner with us every night. I saw him as the head of the household in the very traditional way.
He loved to entertain. Shocking. He loved to throw a good party. Even costume parties. I have a great memory of my dad dressed up as King Arthur. He loved to cook. He made homemade ice-cream when we lived overseas because you just couldn't GET ice-cream in Egypt in the '70s.
He spray painted the corner of all our windows white to emulate snow during the holidays, because hey, you just couldn't GET snow in Egypt in the '70s. Or now. Maybe Al-Quada can though.
I was very much the apple of his eye. I think I told him I appreciated those things. I hope I did. I'm sure he knows I did love him. And I know in his last days, that was meaningful to him.
Last Friday I had an in/out patient minor surgery. It was a lumpectomy on my left breast. This is actually my second one. The first one I had when I was preggers with Lauren. Couple of weeks ago I had a breast biopsy that came back negative. However, recent studies show that the kind of tissue found has a strong link to "non-invasive" breast cancer. So the pathologist decided to be uber cautious and therefor recommended I get the tissue removed.
