Memories of Dad

Someone once said that: "You don't realize what you have until it's gone".  While this statement often rings true for many, such was not the case with me and my relationship with my dad.  Throughout my entire life, I always valued my dad--he was my hero.

This post is dedicated in his memory:  Thomas S. Smith, June 30, 1943 - April 5, 2005.
 

Each year around this time, my thoughts reflect more intensely on the memories I have of my dad.  The memories I recall the most are of the times during my junior high and senior high school days at OCA in Ocala.  Perhaps those days hold strong because we spent so much time together.  After all, he was the high school principal; but then there were all of the football and basketball games (and the removal of all the toilet paper from the trees around our house after all those games), the sports banquets, and all the other activities that kept us so busy.  Maybe it was all the time we spent working on the Malibu--fulfilling his dream of having a "hot rod" to pass on to me.  Perhaps those years are great memories because my dad was constantly investing in me, passing on his wisdom to me, knowing that he only had a short time before I was on my own.

My thoughts then turn to my college years, because my dad was there too--in Pensacola with me.  Dad was there, working odd jobs to put me through college, doing whatever it took for us to get by.  The memories of delivering Sunday morning newspapers with him seem like just yesterday...oh the laughs we had as we drove around in the Malibu at the break of dawn, tossing newspapers out the car windows.  Then there is the memory of the month we spent in that small RV, before he left to go back to Ocala; and the summer we lived in Sanford while we painted a bank together and stayed in a small travel trailer.  I  also remember the look of pride and joy on my dad's face when he first met his future daughter-in-law; and then years later, I remember that same look as he stood next to me as the best man at my wedding.  That proud look surfaced once again at my college graduation, when the culmination of tossing all those newspapers, working all those odd jobs, and completing all that hard work had finally paid off.  These memories are great because my dad was there, providing me with wisdom and support; but mostly because he was my friend.

The years of memories after college hold a special place in my heart, as my dad made all those trips to visit me and my family in Pennsylvania.  Although years have passed since I last lived in Pennsylvania, I remember those times vividly.  From the time my dad met his first grandson, and the time when he met his second grandson, I remember my dad's face beamed with happiness, knowing that his Smith name would be carried on through my two boys.  Yet, I also remember the tears he shed, the silence shared, and the support he provided when we lost our little baby.  How my heart ached for him, knowing that this may have been his only granddaughter from me.  But my heart lifted once again when he purchased a home nearby, and began laying the path to "snow-bird" there once he retired.  My family and I have many memories  with him at that little place we called "the cabin".  Best of all, we have several hours of video of him and my two sons, playing together, laughing together, and making lasting memories for them of their time with Grandpa Smith.  Perhaps those memories are best, because the love I had for my two boys made me realize just how much my dad loved me.

My memory saddens shortly thereafter as I recall how cancer once again took over my dad's body and eventually took his life.  Those memories are some of my darkest, as I struggled to understand why God would take my hero from me, his family, and his friends.  But then my thoughts quickly turn to the celebration of knowing that upon my dad's passing, he was with God.  Dad was no longer in pain, he could talk once again, and he was reunited with his family whom he had lost long ago.  In knowing that, I recall finding strength to make it through that day when I last saw his face, the day when friends and family gathered to honor him.

Even though seven years have passed since that day, I still watch the video my dad made for me that documents him partially restoring the Malibu.  Restoring that car was his way of coping with cancer and was a gift to me, in addition to the car.  Every time I watch that video, I imagine the joy he must have received when he launched the wheel spin on highway 301 with my sister filming the run from the back seat.  But each time I watch that video, a tidal wave of emotions also rushes over me as memories flood my mind of him and me together with that car.  Watching that video is extremely special to me because the Malibu is a common thread that runs throughout my memories with my dad--it was how we spent time together, it was the bond that kept us together, it was an expression of love to one another.

So as I reflect today on memories of my dad, I reflect on all the times we spent together, those memories that are forever implanted on my heart.  But most of all, I reflect on the longing to hear my dad say one more time:  "Son, you know I love you".