Hero

My hero was never a famous athlete or a movie star. I don't know that I'd call anyone in that category "heroic". My hero was a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a friend. He served his country. He was a baseball star in high school. He was a coach, a leader, an employee. He's my dad.

I have so many memories...mostly jumbled together. My new bike in the crawl space in the garage. Vacation in Colorado and a huge donut, the swimming pool and Dancing in the Dark, the CB radios and the Cave Car. Learning to shoot a basketball. Hours of catch in the front yard. Tucked under his arm at night as he read stories - I used to hold his hand and rub his thumbnail. The time he backed over a street sign in a UHaul truck and the time his car caught fire. Endless days of summer on the softball fields and hours in the gym during the winter shooting hoops. The underdogs on the tire swing at the lake. The 6 or 7 tow ropes he broke in front of the lodge one summer and how everyone cheered when the last one didn't break and we got him out of the water. Learning to snow ski and the moment we realized that you can really get sunburned up there in the mountains! He wanted to name our dog Casey "Fart Blossom" - it would have been appropriate! Kraft mac and cheese, chocolate covered peanuts, my mom's surprise party. He lost his job when I was 12 or 13 when the company he worked for closed in Des Moines and he was offered a chance to move to Tennessee to their new facility. At the time I just remember the huge relief when he and my mom told us that we wouldn't be moving. Now, twenty-some years later, I see that decision as an adult and think how hard it must have been. To be laid off and stay where we were for our sake. But he was always doing what was best for us. He coached so many of my basketball and softball teams. So many of my childhood friends have memories of my dad that they've shared with me, because he was there. He played with us, he read to us, he talked to us. He took us to church and taught us about Jesus and His sacrifice for us.

I don't want to say he was perfect. He wasn't. He was flawed. He was human. He had a temper (displayed on kitchen cabinet doors occasionally) :). But he was an incredible man and a wonderful father. I was so blessed. I had NO idea at the time of course, being 17 when he went Home. To this day, I struggle with guilt. Did he know that I loved him? Did he know I was that special brand of SELFISH reserved for snotty teenagers and that underneath, he was my rock? I'm so grateful for his faith. I'm so grateful that I KNOW where he is, that he's in the presence of our Heavenly Father. There is so much comfort in that.

I miss him every day. I miss the chances we didn't have. I tuck all of those "I wish"'s and "What if"'s in a tiny corner of my heart. A corner I don't open up very often - I can't if I'm to continue to move through life without my Daddy here on earth. It's that corner that brings me to my knees in tears. Those big crocodile, snotty, unladylike tears. The ones that seize my breathing and wrench my heart.

I miss you Daddy - it's been 18 years today. Sometimes it feels like 10 minutes and other times 100 years since I last saw you. I am blessed to be able to call you Daddy. I love you.