Daddy

I had the privilege to go sing at a funeral the other day.  My great uncle Ross had died.  I didn't know him.  But I am friends with some of his children and grandchildren, and they thought of me when the time came.  I sang in a family choir of about 12 people, and felt very much at home and in awe of the talent around me.  Music runs deeply in my family.  I sat next to my Dad during the service, and my Mom got the wonderful task of tending my screaming baby out in the hall.  (Sorry, Mom!)  As I listened to all the memories, all the stories and cherished times, I couldn't help but think about what I would say about my own Dad when life demanded it.  "How well do I really know him?" I reflected.  And I realized there is much  that is still a mystery to me.  Things I haven't taken the time to ask about.  My turn came and I got up to sing a version of "Danny Boy" and "Homeward Bound".  When I sat down next to Dad after I was done, I noticed a tear in his eye.  I looked closer at him.  Then I noticed how old he really looked.  The skin around his eyes thinning and wrinkling.  Those blue eyes still bright and knowing.  His hands a little bit shaky now.  How he kept repositioning himself, to try to find a comfortable spot for his aching bones.  I realized for the first time that my Dad is mortal.  Growing up, he was always there.  Always.  He could do anything.  If there was something hard to be done, Dad was your guy.  Even now, he's the first to ask me if my car is running, if I have enough money.  He brings my bags in from the car when I come to stay.  He kisses me goodnight and I'm 29.  And it just hit me, right then and there, that I wouldn't have him forever.  That he's mortal like the rest of us.  Like uncle Ross.  He noticed my gaze and looked over at me.  He smiled and put his hand on my leg. I looked at those fingers and remembered when my hands were small enough to wrap around just one of them.  I held them all in my hand now.  I held his hand and tried to look forward instead of back.  There's still time.  Time to make time count.  I love you, Daddy.