my father as a young man propping up a shovel" laborare est orare"
Saint Benedict
my mother and I talked today about my Daddie.
He died in December of 2004.
We miss him every day.
though I had lost grandparents, a boyfriend and a best friend to Death- None touched all the vulnerabilities I walk with until His Loss. I find his presence forever with me; In my own actions, my choices, and still my vulnerabilities. I am my father's daughter.
in moments of frustration- I find myself wandering to the green carpet of nature to strengthen my connection with Daddie.
many days after he had surveyed land from morning to eve- he would drive in and go from field ,truck , maps- his long day's work right to the yard- often just to pull the weeds that had crossed the line into the green carpet he nurtured, a carpet worked to serve as a moat of sorts for the house he built.
His family was his all.
His work was his prayer.
my Mother says "Your father played hard until we married, " a real athlete, like a kid- shooting marbles the afternoon of his wedding and then he took his vow to work for his family: Giving All.
He died in December of 2004.
We miss him every day.
though I had lost grandparents, a boyfriend and a best friend to Death- None touched all the vulnerabilities I walk with until His Loss. I find his presence forever with me; In my own actions, my choices, and still my vulnerabilities. I am my father's daughter.
in moments of frustration- I find myself wandering to the green carpet of nature to strengthen my connection with Daddie.
many days after he had surveyed land from morning to eve- he would drive in and go from field ,truck , maps- his long day's work right to the yard- often just to pull the weeds that had crossed the line into the green carpet he nurtured, a carpet worked to serve as a moat of sorts for the house he built.
His family was his all.
His work was his prayer.
my Mother says "Your father played hard until we married, " a real athlete, like a kid- shooting marbles the afternoon of his wedding and then he took his vow to work for his family: Giving All.
"labrare est orare"
to work is to pray
to work is to pray
Daddie and Liz in the scuppernong
always happy to see these. wish I had a garden right now.
ReplyDeleteI, too, am a daddy's girl. I didn't realize how few women really say that, believe that. When my mother was ill, I was at her bedside. Friends came by to visit with her and inevitably they would talk about my dad who had died several years before. One said, "That Bill was a one of a kind. An original." My mother said, "No he wasn't. She'd just like him." Really, the most lovely thing my mother ever told me. Happy memories.
ReplyDeleteFunnily enough, I almost used a photo of my dad in the garden in the '50's!
ReplyDeleteSo sweet. Dad's are the best.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post L.A.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful - no matter the distance or time, we don't walk alone. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteHere I am in October,not sure how i got to this post!
ReplyDeletesomething led me here! I spell Daddie just like you do; and I lost my Daddie when I was 4! He has been with me ever since.
Not the same; of course. I know what you mean.
Perfectly lovely and touching post.
Thanks.
Penelope