A Little More Time With You
It hurt too much to not buy Dad a birthday gift this year. Maybe it was silly of me but I wasn't ready to stop yet.
It was always proof of all of us girls' stubborn streaks because every year upon asking what he wanted Dad would say the same thing: Nothing. Save your money.
Needless to say, he still got gifts.
Last year, he swore up and down he didn't want a thing. When pressed, he admitted he would love this one computer game (1602 AD). He could play it during chemo, he said-- 20 minutes on Amazon and it was on it's way. I couldn't believe he actually SUGGESTED a birthday gift. I suspected after 27 years he knew I was going to spend my money anyway so may as well go for broke.
The game he ordered was one he'd played a lot when I was a teen. It was Sims City-esque (another favorite of his) but set in the age of pirates. In the weeks following his birthday it always made me smile to walk by him and hear familiar cries of "Aye, landlubber!" and the like coming from his computer. He loved it.
Although such a painful time, some of my favorite memories of that agonizing 9-month period when he was sick were just he and I having coffee in the mornings. I would get off work at 8am and beeline my way home to see how he was feeling. He would be awake 9 times out of 10, watching tv and just hanging out. I'd pop my head in and kiss his cheek, then take his order for the kitchen. On the mornings he wanted breakfast, I would rejoice-- but a lot of mornings it was just a cup of coffee. I would fix us both a mug and we'd sit on the couch-- sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes engulfed in conversation. But it was always pleasant and it did my very soul good to give him some hint of normalcy when his world had been turned upside down.
I would give any one (and every one) of my worldly possessions to be able to have coffee mornings with Dad again.
So I did what I know best; I bought him a gift-- this year, a coffee mug. It has a funny saying on it. It's very Dad, trust me on this.
All that to say-- Today I'm brewing coffee. and in a few minutes I'll go sit in my recliner and reflect. I'm still working on being able to think about the good times and not have them overshadowed by the fact that he just isn't here anymore and how much that hurts me. I miss being able to call him, to stop by and see him-- to have a cup of coffee and get his opinions on a million things.
But today,I feel like I can rest assured that he is up there somewhere telling somebody, just like he always said here on earth-- "I told that girl not to spend money on me! But... I love it." And then that laugh.
Cheers, Daddy.
*Cross-posted from Daddy's blog
It was always proof of all of us girls' stubborn streaks because every year upon asking what he wanted Dad would say the same thing: Nothing. Save your money.
Needless to say, he still got gifts.
Last year, he swore up and down he didn't want a thing. When pressed, he admitted he would love this one computer game (1602 AD). He could play it during chemo, he said-- 20 minutes on Amazon and it was on it's way. I couldn't believe he actually SUGGESTED a birthday gift. I suspected after 27 years he knew I was going to spend my money anyway so may as well go for broke.
The game he ordered was one he'd played a lot when I was a teen. It was Sims City-esque (another favorite of his) but set in the age of pirates. In the weeks following his birthday it always made me smile to walk by him and hear familiar cries of "Aye, landlubber!" and the like coming from his computer. He loved it.
Although such a painful time, some of my favorite memories of that agonizing 9-month period when he was sick were just he and I having coffee in the mornings. I would get off work at 8am and beeline my way home to see how he was feeling. He would be awake 9 times out of 10, watching tv and just hanging out. I'd pop my head in and kiss his cheek, then take his order for the kitchen. On the mornings he wanted breakfast, I would rejoice-- but a lot of mornings it was just a cup of coffee. I would fix us both a mug and we'd sit on the couch-- sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes engulfed in conversation. But it was always pleasant and it did my very soul good to give him some hint of normalcy when his world had been turned upside down.
I would give any one (and every one) of my worldly possessions to be able to have coffee mornings with Dad again.
So I did what I know best; I bought him a gift-- this year, a coffee mug. It has a funny saying on it. It's very Dad, trust me on this.
All that to say-- Today I'm brewing coffee. and in a few minutes I'll go sit in my recliner and reflect. I'm still working on being able to think about the good times and not have them overshadowed by the fact that he just isn't here anymore and how much that hurts me. I miss being able to call him, to stop by and see him-- to have a cup of coffee and get his opinions on a million things.
But today,I feel like I can rest assured that he is up there somewhere telling somebody, just like he always said here on earth-- "I told that girl not to spend money on me! But... I love it." And then that laugh.
Cheers, Daddy.
*Cross-posted from Daddy's blog
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