Whippoorwill's Singing: Thank you dad

Christmas isn't the same without dad; life isn't the same. Sometimes it feels as if he's just away on a long trip and I have to remind myself he isn't coming back. Thoughts of not talking to him, seeing him, laughing with him, or even patting his hand again can be hard. It's difficult to lose a parent, no matter how old you become. It changes the balance of life. It can change the way you feel about living. Since dad passed away I think more about my own mortality. His passing also left me with the crystal clear realization that my loved ones won’t always be here. Of course I already knew this but sometimes knowing and accepting are two different things. Accepting is the hard part. If only I could I would go back and let dad know how important he was while he was still here. Because once someone is gone from your life it's impossible to say the things you wish you’d said or do the things you wish you’d done. If only I could...

I'd go back and tell dad how much his kids remember the little things he did -- like the time in 1966 when we moved into a new house and he carved our names on the front porch walk. I remember Mel was 12 that year, Jeff was 10, and I was 5. I wish I had told him how much we loved him for doing that.

I'd go back and tell dad how the way he always signed the gifts we gave him with the name of who they were from and the date given meant something. I wish I had told him how important that made us feel.

I'd go back and tell dad what a kick we got from his quick wit and humor, his quirky ways and expressions, and especially his sly smile as he’d mischievously say his name was John Henry Jackson. I wish I had told him what joy he gave us in life.

I'd go back and tell dad how much we enjoyed our long drives with him and how just being near him felt good. I wish I had told him we knew words weren't always necessary and how riding without them was sometimes appreciated and never uncomfortable with him.

I'd go back and tell dad how we treasured him for his quietness, his outward calm, and gentle ways. I wish I had told him he was the one person that could make us feel calm in a not so calm life.

I'd go back and tell dad we loved him for who he was, for his tinkering, inventing, ginseng and mushroom hunting, metal detecting and treasure finding, exploring and walking in the woods, his appreciation for country, nature, barns, trees, birds, dogs, cats, and his lifelong sense of wonder. I wish I had told him what a truly special man he was to us.

I'd go back and tell dad we knew he loved us without his even saying so. I wish I had told him his smiling eyes when we came in the door and his words of “be careful” every time we walked out the door were just a couple ways we knew.

I'd go back and tell dad that no matter where we are he is always near. I wish I had told him it was going to be ok when he had to leave and that we understood and believed.

I think most of all, if I could, I'd go back and tell dad thank you, thank you so much for being our dad.

driving with dad

We love you dad.

On my way home from Upper Alton Cemetery today I saw three deer out of the corner of my eye. They were in a grassy area behind a building, just barely off its parking lot. I turned my car around and sat and watched them a while. Thankfully, they were kind enough to let me take pictures before dashing off into the woods. Just the sight of them lifted some of the sadness I was feeling and made me feel better. My dad loved deer and thought they were beautiful gentle creatures. I love them too and couldn't have been happier to see them than I was at that moment. Somehow I think I was meant to see them today...maybe as a little sign from dad that he already knows all the things I wish I'd said.