A Father’s Love

My father loved being a veterinarian. He had a large and small animal practice in southwestern Wisconsin for over fifty years. He always encouraged his children to find a career they would love as much as he did his. But as much as he reveled in what he did, he loved his family even more. 

This is a nostalgic time of year packed with family reunions, anniversaries, and Father’s Day. This year it’s all hit me especially hard since it’s the tenth anniversary of Daddy leaving us. I was blessed with always knowing my father loved me. He wasn’t shy about reminding me of that fact. He loved all ten of his children and made each of us feel special in our own way. He loved the ones who joined the family through marriage, adoption, and friendship. It is a testament to that love that eight of his children, including me, one daughter-in-law, one ex-wife, and three colleagues he mentored all spoke at his funeral.

The night before I left home to go to college hundreds of miles away, my father said he loved me and was proud of me. He told me to remember that I could always come back home. There was nothing I could ever do that would close that door. Talk about a boost of confidence. Knowing Daddy always had my back, I never had to return home in defeat. 

The organ played. The mothers were seated. The love of my life stood at the altar with his groomsmen. The flower girl and ring bearer were coaxed down the aisle. My sisters Lori and Ann walked down the path and took their places. Daddy took my arm and said, “I’ll go with you if you want to leave.” I shook my head and said, “I want to stay.” Then he said, “Okay, then smile. It’s your party!” And down the aisle we walked forty-eight years ago this month.

We bought our first house. A tiny, little, white house just 24 x 24 with one bedroom, one bathroom, a dining room, a kitchen, a living room, and one itsy bitsy closet on a large lot in a small town near the university we attended. My father-in-law assisted by my husband after he finished work each day and a fourteen year old nephew built a one room addition on the back. It was to be my husband’s study and two large, much needed closets.

Daddy was anxious to help us get settled in our first home. In truth, I think he was a little jealous that my father-in-law had been so involved in the expansion of our little nest. He was in town at the time when the existing roof line had to be cut into to marry the roof for the new room under it. He wanted to work, to make sure he’d contributed to the project. 

My husband and father-in-law were concerned that it was threatening rain in the afternoon. Not the best time to peel the roof away from the walls on the existing structure. But Daddy was only there for the one day and was certain they would be done in plenty of time before the rains came. Daddy convincingly pled his case and against prevailing better judgment, they cut into the roof. The thunder roared and the heavens opened up and it poured rain. 

In the dining room, water started running off the wagon wheel light fixture and pooling on the table. I ran, in tears, to put pans, bowls, buckets—whatever would capture the runoff—under the stream. I was crying and screaming for them to do something. A plastic tarp was stretched across the open roof. It wouldn’t stay in place. The wind was too high. Soon, the rain stopped pouring into the dining room. Anchors were put in place to hold the plastic tight against the gaping maw.

Live anchors!

The blurry plastic covered figure on the left is my father-in-law and the shirtless figure on the right is Daddy. Luckily, the storm passed quickly and no lightening found the dads on the roof! When the rain stopped, the construction successfully continued.

Daddy, you would have loved this year’s family reunion with 87 attendees. We had great fun on a perfect day. You were missed, but your love blanketed us.

RIP. Love you!