To only have six years to get to know my Dad has been a difficult thing in life. I have tried to meditate and think about my childhood memories and try to remember experiences and mental images of him till my head hurt. Sometimes it is hard to know what is a genuine memory of mine that is a jewel given only to me, or what do I remember because of stories I have been told, or do I think I remember something just because a picture documents me in the same place as my Dad. I have a few jewels. Hands down my greatest childhood memory isn't at Disneyland, or a far away vacation. One of the sweetest memories of my life is one night when my Dad let me stay up a 1/2 hour later than all my siblings and for that 1/2 hour we did whatever I wanted to do. I chose to play my favorite game, Memory, and have my Dad give me a wheel barrel ride. It was dark and we seemed to fly over bumps and turn a bit too fast--it all made for the perfect ride. When I think back about that night, joy and love permeate soul. It is a connection that helps me remember him.
When Jon and I were coming out of the storm of our own battle with cancer and when it seemed that indeed we would conquer this beast, I couldn't keep my mind from continually being drawn to my parents. They had a similar journey, and yet it ended so differently. Jon was 11 days older than my Dad when he was diagnosed. My parents had three children. We had 2 and I was six months pegnant with our third. There were many similarities, the greatest being faith that carried us through our hardest times. One year when I was in college and had only some spare change to buy a Mother's day gift, I bought a small frame, pressed some cherry blossoms and attached them to a homemade card that read, "We do not doubt. Our mother knew it." Alma 56:48. How can I ever adequately express my gratitude for a mother like that. I am so grateful that she kept a journal so that I could feel and experience what seemed to me to be the sermon of a lifetime on faith. I am grateful for her memory and her willingness to share and relive some of her darkest moments so that I could grow and understand. I am grateful for family that kept his letters and documented what they experienced in terms of love for one another, fasting, prayer, and the power of temples in our lives. I'm thankful for my Dad who was motivated by love for his family to write so many letters. Most of all I am thankful for a merciful Savior and Father in Heaven who have allowed our family relationships to span the eternities.
I have always wished I had a letter from my Dad--the kind you get from a loved one who dies and their words become immortalized and it is as if they are speaking beyond the grave. My mom explained that when things went down hill, they went down hill fast...too fast for a letter. How ironic then that I would come to know my Dad, not just as a Dad, but as a struggling teenager, a missonary, a first time dad with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and as a pillar of immmoveable faith through letters...his letters. This blog is dedicated to him. One of my greatest fears is that I will forget, and how do I foster a relationship between him and my children if that flame of remebrance is not found in me? It is all in the remembering. I hope we all remember. Here's to all that he was, is, and HIS legacy of faith that can stir greatness within us!
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