His face contorts, with pain, or is it sorrow or both… I look into his eyes and remember,
This man, whose large finger my little hand once clung to,
Whose strong arms held up my new bicycle as I learned to ride,
Whose gentle hands guided mine as I learned drive his John Deere tractor
Whose soft eyes watched as I left on my first date,
And whose arm I wrapped mine about as I walked down the aisle…
He has been my strength, my counsel,
When times were bleak he offered me hope, He is so good at changing the subject when things get serious, and bringing forth a smile to my lips.
When times must be sober, he offers confidence and encouragement, he teaches consistently all things that one must know, and he does it calmly, steadily, being certain that the future will be well taken care of; for he is a man of honor, dignity and respect, and no such man would leave any loose ends. The one left to carry out his wishes must completely understand, not only, what is expected and required, but also that it is carried out in total love and the highest regard of all involved.
This man, once strong, hard working, muscular; now thin, weak and swiftly losing ground…is my beloved father. I hang on tightly to whom he was, but even more so to whom he is now, for he is a part of me, as he has shown himself to me. I have come to know not only my father, but I have come to know the man my father is.
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