The Surety of a Father's Love

There is a poignancy attached to the coming season of 'Father's Day' for me, as my Dad is no longer touchable as in holding hands or hearing his voice.  O, how I wish I had recorded my daddy's voice!  And made an imprint of his huge, loving hands!

But more impressive; more important; more memorable are the joys of having been his daughter.

There is a certainty in the love of a Father....a sort of 'guarantee' marked on a daughter's heart. "I've got your back, Baby....I'll be here for you."  

Who can rise to the level of almost God when he pronounces the rules and procedures of the house?  Who can wipe away tears with a hug and encouraging word, then turn to leave for work confident he has righted a daughter's world?  Who can weld the authority of a Principal when he takes away her keys to let her think a bit about safety on the road?  Whose buttons can pop on a shirt when he stands to salute his daughter walking down an aisle with diploma in hand?  Who can face so bravely the bills because daughters get more help from Dad on the rides through the maze of tuitions, college wardrobes, social clubs, and meal tickets? Who's heart can have the strength to hold back tears on that wedding aisle when he gives her away to a yet lesser proven man?  Who can believe in a daughter's future successes with unwavering faith?  

A Dad can!

And does....Becoming a daughter's monument to hope...a placecard of belonging...an act to follow...a pattern for finding her own man...a reason to believe in herself and in others...her empowerment to dare to trust love in her own life...

My Dad's last words before his death were, "I LOVE YOU."  

Words not spoken in verbal chords after the ravages of Parkinson's had stolen his precious voice.  The masculine voice that said every night through my own golden years, "Good Night, Baby."  In it's cruel nature, the disease had also stilled one of his arms and both his legs.  No more walking hand-in-hand through shopping malls or National Parks.  Only wheelchair rides through the hallways of old age to see the decorations intended to make his last abode somewhat homelike.  The only kindness...strength was permitted to remain in one arm and hand.

But there is was...it happened...that one living, active hand suddenly clapped against the still one until I looked up from my book and moved over to sit on his bed.  "What do you need Dad?"  And then he spoke more loudly than ever in our life together.  The one, still-moveable finger pointed jabbingly to himself....then it drew a heart over his chest....and as he outstretched the one living arm with finger pointed toward me, he mouthed silently the words "I LOVE YOU!"

He could not have yelled it from a mountain top more loudly; more distinctly; with more emotion.  It was his "Good-bye, Baby."  His guarantee that his love would still have my back...be my guide...wipe my tears.  And his love has and still does all that.  His love and faith, I recall seeing in those beautiful brown eyes, bring tears to mine when I mess up in life.  I would not choose to disappoint.  But that last "I love you" always dries them.

Good bye, Dad...I love you too; I'll be OK.

********************************************************************************************* 

❤Dedicated to my Dad's memory and in honor of my sisters Paula Ballard and Freddie Sue Stacks, who shared his love, walked hand in hand with him, and heard his voice often say, "I love you." And in appreciation of my Love, Gary, who is blessed with daughters.

                        Frederick Wingo Porter,  Father, Soulmate, Man of Honor