Missing My Dad (Memorial Day edition)

It’s been more than 11 long years since my dad’s been gone. It’s still amazing that so much life can go on after a death that significant, but it does. Life is relentless in how it refuses to pause and pay respect.

When he first died, I clung to memory. I desperately tried to hold on, scribbling down anything I could remember, moments, trips, quotes, character traits, how he looked, how he seemed, stories, pictures. I was so afraid he would fade away, that he wouldn’t be part of me anymore if he wasn’t around to create new memories, see me become a writer, have children, form a life, adopt, write a book.

Already having lost him, I was afraid of losing the only thing I had left — my memories.

In those 11 long years,  I’ve learned to let him go. And like a memory that sticks, like something that’s part of the fabric of me, he keeps coming back to me in hints and whispers, like a breeze on the back of my neck.

There’s the funny stuff, like how whenever it was my turn to go out to breakfast with him on a Saturday morning, he would talk to me about vaginal warts (seriously!), how he’s seen them in the course of being a family doctor, and how I really, really didn’t want them (this in an attempt to keep me from having sex with boys, to be sure). Or how one of his favorite jokes was to shorten only one leg on my grandma’s — his mother’s — walker, so that she’d get up and then laugh, knowing her son was up to his usual pranks. There’s just the regular, every day stuff, like how he loved Cruisin’ USA video game in any arcade, or how he enjoyed golf, or how he never walked slowly anywhere.

Then there was his face at my college commencement. Normally reserved (like the Norwegian farm stock he was), he beamed (beamed!) as I crossed that stage. I smiled, too, but was also surprised: There could be no doubt in that moment. This was a father proud of his daughter. That memory is in the pocket right next to my heart.

Since he’s been gone, the presence of a Heavenly Father has been closer, more obvious. He took care of me when my father wasn’t there anymore. He sang his love songs over me when my dad couldn’t tell me anymore how he felt. After my dad was gone and I would feel insecure without his advice or approval, God taught me that I had everything I needed inside myself. And through the memories of my dad, God shows Himself and His character, too.

My dad is in the fabric of me, just as I’m weaving myself into the fabric of my children. And what is it they’ll remember? I hope it’s love, love, love, love. Constant, unending, relentless. And then they’ll weave that legacy of love into their children, too.

(I love you, dad. You’ll never be forgotten. My kids already know you.)

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8 comments on “Missing My Dad (Memorial Day edition)

  1. Adele says:

    Thank you so much for this, Kim. I lost my dad 4 years ago so this post was extra beautiful for me. I’m so glad you shared your memories with us today.

  2. Aaron says:

    Wow so cool that Adele is on here. Love your music Adele

  3. Aaron says:

    Also, great post Kim.

    I have a letter from Dad that he wrote me when I went out to YWAM… He wrote that he was proud of me and to see me playing music and loving Jesus is all he has ever wanted for me. I hold that one pretty dear!

    • Yeah I bet you do! That is really cool. The last conversation I had with dad was about my future, and what he wanted to do to help, and how he would always be there for me. And I still believe it’s true, and that’s happening, even without him around. Just in a different way than I thought, and probably different than he thought, too.

      • Amber C. says:

        I’ve been cruising around your blog today, and, what a gift to find your writing about your dad. I lost my dad four years ago and have written a lot on grief – and our last conversation was also about my future and his support of me as an aspiring writer. I cherish that memory, and still, I have also wrestled with the fear of losing my memories of him. You articulate this so well. It’s also been refreshing reading about your adoption journey and experiences, your heart for Africa. I have wanted to adopt a child (or children) from Africa for the last ten years. I hope one day I can. Reading your honest experiences and emotions is this is so helpful.

  4. Leanne Penny says:

    Beautiful and spot on. I lost my dad 7 years ago and I’m his daughter, he’s in my handwriting, my DNA, my memories. I miss him phenomenally but my heart has healed.

    • Thank you so much, Leanne. I completely agree — the missing can get intense, though I know I’m healed. And yet, here he is, always with me.

  5. Margie says:

    In August it will be one year since I lost my dad. Your post said so many things that my heart has been feeling. Thank you!