Daddy’s Hands and Letting Go

I promise, this will be my last somber post for a while.  We have something special to celebrate this weekend, and come Monday I’m sure I’ll have plenty of happy blog-fodder to keep me occupied for many days to come.  But it’s important to me to take a moment to remember this day and the memories I have.

For those of you new to this blog – or my stories – I’ll begin with a short history to catch you up to speed.  For those of you who’ve heard it before, my apologies.

On Monday, September 15, 1997, I was driving from my job in Plano to my graduate class at the University of North Texas in Denton.  On the way there, I was listening to my favorite country-western station and heard a song I’d never heard before.  It wasn’t a new song by any means – you could tell by the style and the recording it was an oldie, but for some reason it wasn’t one that was played very often.  Something in the words grabbed me and I began to pay close attention so I could remember it.  I thought, You know, that would make a beautiful card for my dad for his birthday in November.  Since I couldn’t write the words down, I began to commit them to memory so I could make that card.  They went something like this:

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I’d been crying

Daddy’s hands were hard as steel when I’d done wrong

Daddy’s hands weren’t always gentle but I’ve come to understand

There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Three days later, on September 18, 1997, I received a phone call that shattered my world and introduced me to the concept of “new normal.”  Eleven simple words my mom said: Dad’s in the hospital and we’d like for you to come.  She handed the phone to the hospital chaplain to provide directions and I heard things like he’s not dead yet, heart attack, resuscitated…  Hoping for the best, praying for a miracle, but fearing the absolute worst, we spent the next two days never far from his bedside, begging, pleading with him and with God to come back to us.  Slowly the realization dawned that he was gone and it was time to let him go.  On September 20, 1997, we made the incredibly painful decision as a family to remove him from life support.  Five hours later, while all of us except for Matt and dad’s best friend had gone home for a quick dinner, he breathed his last breath and was ushered into eternity.

I never got to make that card for my dad.  Those words I had heard on the radio only five days earlier resounded in my head as I tried to come to grips with my new reality.  As we neared the day for the memorial services, I felt a pressing burden to say something, but what could I say?  Gripped with a massive case of writer’s block, for once in my life, I absolutely could not find the words to express the range of emotions that filled my heart.

Until I got into the limousine to head to the graveside service.  I grabbed a piece of notebook paper on my way out the door and proceeded -in true Gettysburg Address fashion – to scribble down a poem as we drove down Central Expressway.  I shared it at the graveside service and again at the memorial at the church, and up until this time have not shared it with anyone else.

Now, a new song has come out on the country-western scene.  The first time I heard it, I only caught the tail end and thought, this is another one I need to pay attention to.  The song reflects so many of my own memories – eerily some of them word for word – and my own experiences.  The words resonate in the deepest parts of my heart where I’ve tucked away my greatest hurts and cause me to once again experience the incredible joy of those happy memories and the intense sadness of letting go.  I’ve learned to change the station when it comes on if I’m driving or with someone as I am instantly reduced to a puddle of tears and my face contorts into the ugly cry, which is not only unattractive, but also dangerous.

Below the fold, I share the poem I wrote (based on the song “Daddy’s Hands” by Holly Dunn), followed by the song, “You Can Let Go” by Crystal Shawanda.

When I was born,

Daddy’s hands held me with pride and joy.

When I was on my way to school for the very first time,

Daddy’s hands held mine with strength and comfort.

When I was learning how to ride my bike,

Daddy’s hands provided a steady guide

Then cheered my success as I rode away.

When I was in the throes of teenage turmoil,

Daddy’s hands wiped away my tears

and held me with assurance and hope.

When I wrestled with choices of colleges and careers,

Daddy’s hands wrote words of encouragement and peace.

When I made the decision to move out on my own,

Daddy’s hands moved my belongings and packed my bags with dignity and respect.

When I chose Matt as my life partner,

Daddy’s hands carried my heart

and presented it as a gift to my new husband.

As you lay in the hospital, Daddy,

I held your hands

and prayed that you could feel the love and sorrow in our hearts.

Now, as we commend your soul to heaven

it is fitting to remember

that your hands are now joined with the angels

and you are finally resting

in your Father’s hands.

– Debbi Edwards Speer, September 23, 1997

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQ3p8FVdGaU&feature=related[/youtube]