Sunday, June 20, 2010

Father's Day Sunday

The mug I gave to my Daddy on Father's Day 1987. I was three and he was happy.

The years marched and I yielded to spring breaks and heavy-bellied summers. God willing, autumn will come and winter. My father lived in winter, but he never lived to let his grandchildren run sticky hands in his snow-white hair. He didn't live long enough to have white hair, only a speckling sprinkling of gray just beginning, the seasons just starting to change again. He stopped. Aborted. Ran so hard from living that now there is nothing left to change. So I change in his stead, in his absence, with sticky precious hands caressing my hair.

I drink tea from a mug whose message still rings true.

It has been twenty-three years. In one month--a breath, a beat--my daughter will turn three. Three, like I was when he was happy. And I am happy, and I am sad.

With so many things shattered, the mug is not. Nor the memories. My tea is hot. I sip in steam with sunshine pouring in, and I know the comfort of warmth and seasons past and seasons still to be. I read the mug again, remember, whisper small and sad the words of a three year old in her proud Daddy's arms. I said it with a mug, and I'll say it again and always and for ever.

I love you, Dad.


  1. Bethany,
    I've lit a candle for you today. My prayers are with you that you may be comforted by our heavenly Father and you may find consolation in the arms of the father of your children. Much love to you!

  2. this made me want to cry. beauty words, beauty memory. thank you.

  3. He may have lived in winter but his daughter lives in springtime. Beautiful words Bethany filled with love and heartache. I pray you feel God's loving arms surround you this day and any other as you grieve. Cling to the joy wherever you can find it.


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