Dearest dad,
I'm writing you this letter for Father's Day, even though you've been gone from this world since December 26, 1992. That's 20 years ago this year, and really hard to believe. You were only 67 years old, so today you would be 87! You would be happy to hear that my little sister is starting to look so much like you I can hardly believe it. Maybe it's her new glasses and that she's turning 50 today. You've missed so much since you left. The most important of all are the additions to our big family. We've added new husbands and wives, but especially all sorts of new children were born. You have eight great grandchildren who have never had the pleasure of meeting you. They are the apple of everyone's eye. Luckily for all of us, you passed along your secrets of how to treat and love kids, because that's something you did so well and were known for. I had someone tell me you were an "angel of a man", and she was certainly right.
We have all missed you sorely. We took years to get over it, but as time wore on, we've come to terms and even though we think of you often, we've had to put one foot in front of the other and slowly get on with our lives. The day of your funeral was the coldest day on record. The wind blew, it stormed and it approached 50 below zero. Seemed like you didn't want to leave either. Auntie Dianne had similiar weather, so I don't think she was really ready either... There have been other losses of family and old friends, but we are comforted to know you are all together. The loss of your teen-aged grandson, was especially hard. You, him, Merton, and Auntie Dianne must make quite the merry bunch to add to all the other family and friends already there. I'm a person who saves cards from funerals, and they are really beginning to pile up!
You know what I miss the most? Sitting on the couch in the crook of your arm. Probably watching some TV show like Bonanza. Me playing with the hair on your forearms. I miss you tucking me into bed at night when I was a little girl. Every night without fail you would come in and talk to me and kiss me good night. We always had big hugs. Those are memories that can never be taken away. I miss your impromptu visits after I got married and moved away. If you were in the vicinity, you would be at my house. Being in the funeral business in those days, sometimes you set the neighbourhood all a-twitter by showing up driving the hearse. Well after all, you might have had to make a trip to whereever I lived all in the line of work. No point in missing the opportunity to visit your family if the chance arose. You had no qualms about telling me my bathroom needed cleaning either. There again, I wasn't afraid to hand you the toilet brush and it wasn't beneath you to use it! You would help me with whatever I needed, if only I asked.
My own children grew up knowing their grandparents very well. They loved you both as much as I did and loved going to your house for a visit. As the years went by and they got older, the visits would sometimes be for weeks on end during the summer. Somehow, having them around seemed to make you and mom younger. Sitting on your knee or letting them lay down for a nap with you made such a mark in their lives. They loved going to the fair, the same as we did when we were kids. You and mom always went and made sure they had lots of rides, games and candy floss. We all loved going out to see you at the farm. You often had pop and chocolate bars or some other treat for us when we showed up. You would make time and be happy as anything to see us.
We loved to go with mom to take meals to the field during harvest. You would be driving the combine and I can see you in your coveralls, jumping down and walking toward us to this day. Mom would make big meals of meat and potatoes and the whole crew, including us and the hired men would eat voraciously. Sitting on the tail gate of the truck or just on the ground in the stubble beside the car was absolutely the best. I didn't know the difference, but was told you were such a great farmer. We got to ride on the combine for a short while with you if we wanted to. I remember coming home from school one day and finding out that you broke one of your fingers. You'd caught your ring on the metal stairs coming down off the combine. I don't believe you wore rings while working much after that. I remember you being happy about the insurance you got for the broken finger though! I remember you telling us about the wildlife you would encounter while combining into the wee hours of the morning. Bears, coyotes, foxes, deer, moose they were thick at Hudson Bay near the newly broken land.
I distinctly remember having a discussion with you about money. Of course, I was going to university and thought I knew everything. I think we were talking about who I should be dating and it would be nice if the person had money. A sort of a philosophical conversation. I was quite insensed and said, "dad, money isn't everything you know!" I mean, who on earth would stoop to marrying someone for their money? His answer was so succinct and to the point...."no, but it sure helps." Those kinds of things have stuck with me.
When we visited you in the hospital, your face would light up and you would be so happy. I wish I would have stayed longer on each and every one of my visits. I was always having to leave and get on the road...and you were always wanting me to stay longer....I wish now that I had made those visits last much longer than I did.
You were a practical joker and one of the things I still have as a reminder is a shoe box full of safety pins. I guess I mentioned I need some once. You wrote "To Jean Love Dad" in black jiffy marker on the top. I think of you every time I see that box. I have pictures of you, but not nearly enough. I wish I had so many more, but there again, I don't. If anybody has any pictures of my dad, I would absolutely love to have copies. I think that's one of the best gifts you can give somebody...photos of their loved one that you might have sitting in your closet. They really mean the world to someone.
Dad, your shop was always as neat as a pin. You could fix most things, and even though it might take you awhile to figure it out, you would be successful in the end. I remember your set of funny-looking open drawers that were full of screws, nuts, bolts, nails, and you name it. You had them all sorted out in this really orderly fashion. You were a big game hunter and kept us fed with moose meat most years. We often had company staying at the farm and many of them came to Hudson Bay to hunt big game. Your shop was the place you hung the meat. When I think of all the buildings on that farm....all the equipment....all the land...I wonder how you had any time for yourself. I used to wonder how come you'd go to bed right after supper in seeding and harvest and be up by 5:00 a.m. I thought you were crazy. I remember you asking me why I didn't go to bed earlier. Well, I was a teenager and I thought it was cool to stay up until 11pm and then sleep in.. (Mom made sure I did my quota of housework and cooking...lucky for me or I would be useless in the house today). Now I know why you had to do that.
I remember you saying things to me like I might lay an egg if I kept laughing. You teased us kids and laughed and when we got mad or pouted you'd say "bad old dad"...I remember you saying things like, "oh yeah, wear out the old stuff first". You meant, we were asking you to do something we were perfectly capable of doing ourselves.
I still think you had some mid-Victorian values and ideas though. You were ultra conservative about many things. Now I understand why, but at the time when I was a teenager, I wanted to talk openly about everything including the birds and the bees. You put mom up to that. I guess I'm mid-Victorian too, because when she tried to have "the talk" with me, I said she didn't have to because I already knew "everything"....even though I really knew nothing. I think my face was flaming red for three days after. Neither you nor I were quite ready for the sixties I guess! You dad, had a knack for knowing what to do or say when I really needed someone. After a tiff with my boyfriend, you came out and sat on the step with me in the dark and told me one thing. You said, and I will never, ever forget this... "No boy is ever going to love you the way I do." I said, "I know dad." It made me cry, but turns out, you were right.
Dad, I always loved listening to you sing. You sang so much when I think of it. You'd be working away and just singing...mostly songs off the radio, I guess. You whistled too. You were a good dancer and took us to all the community hall dances. I just don't know what ever happened to events that were so much fun for the whole family. Dad, you would come in from the field and for entertainment would take the whole family for a drive around the country looking at the crops. We loved those intimate family times. We'd stop and get out and walk a little ways into the field, imitating your every move. You brushed your hands over the heads of the barley, waved your hands through the grain, and so did we. You cracked the heads of the wheat open and ate the grain inside...so did we. We'd watch the sun as it started to set. You were one helluva driver when you were looking at the crops though...even I remember that. Even so, you drove thousands of miles on combines, tractors and trucks and when I realized I couldn't see well at night to drive, it was you that I handed the wheel to. It was you who let my son drive with you to the lake, when I was such a basket case around a brand new driver. You were on morphine by this time, and I said you were so brave because you were under the influence. You would have done it regardless, but I'm a teaser too.
Dad, you were so handsome. Your hair was never out of place and you always liked your clothes pressed, even if they were for out working in the field and riding on the tractor. I so wish you were still here, but I would never have wanted you to continue on with the pain and suffering you were going through. I just always wanted to have you with me and I always will. I carry you in my heart and soul forever. Your are as much a part of me as I am of you. Until we meet again, my dearest dad.
I'm writing you this letter for Father's Day, even though you've been gone from this world since December 26, 1992. That's 20 years ago this year, and really hard to believe. You were only 67 years old, so today you would be 87! You would be happy to hear that my little sister is starting to look so much like you I can hardly believe it. Maybe it's her new glasses and that she's turning 50 today. You've missed so much since you left. The most important of all are the additions to our big family. We've added new husbands and wives, but especially all sorts of new children were born. You have eight great grandchildren who have never had the pleasure of meeting you. They are the apple of everyone's eye. Luckily for all of us, you passed along your secrets of how to treat and love kids, because that's something you did so well and were known for. I had someone tell me you were an "angel of a man", and she was certainly right.
We have all missed you sorely. We took years to get over it, but as time wore on, we've come to terms and even though we think of you often, we've had to put one foot in front of the other and slowly get on with our lives. The day of your funeral was the coldest day on record. The wind blew, it stormed and it approached 50 below zero. Seemed like you didn't want to leave either. Auntie Dianne had similiar weather, so I don't think she was really ready either... There have been other losses of family and old friends, but we are comforted to know you are all together. The loss of your teen-aged grandson, was especially hard. You, him, Merton, and Auntie Dianne must make quite the merry bunch to add to all the other family and friends already there. I'm a person who saves cards from funerals, and they are really beginning to pile up!
You know what I miss the most? Sitting on the couch in the crook of your arm. Probably watching some TV show like Bonanza. Me playing with the hair on your forearms. I miss you tucking me into bed at night when I was a little girl. Every night without fail you would come in and talk to me and kiss me good night. We always had big hugs. Those are memories that can never be taken away. I miss your impromptu visits after I got married and moved away. If you were in the vicinity, you would be at my house. Being in the funeral business in those days, sometimes you set the neighbourhood all a-twitter by showing up driving the hearse. Well after all, you might have had to make a trip to whereever I lived all in the line of work. No point in missing the opportunity to visit your family if the chance arose. You had no qualms about telling me my bathroom needed cleaning either. There again, I wasn't afraid to hand you the toilet brush and it wasn't beneath you to use it! You would help me with whatever I needed, if only I asked.
My own children grew up knowing their grandparents very well. They loved you both as much as I did and loved going to your house for a visit. As the years went by and they got older, the visits would sometimes be for weeks on end during the summer. Somehow, having them around seemed to make you and mom younger. Sitting on your knee or letting them lay down for a nap with you made such a mark in their lives. They loved going to the fair, the same as we did when we were kids. You and mom always went and made sure they had lots of rides, games and candy floss. We all loved going out to see you at the farm. You often had pop and chocolate bars or some other treat for us when we showed up. You would make time and be happy as anything to see us.
We loved to go with mom to take meals to the field during harvest. You would be driving the combine and I can see you in your coveralls, jumping down and walking toward us to this day. Mom would make big meals of meat and potatoes and the whole crew, including us and the hired men would eat voraciously. Sitting on the tail gate of the truck or just on the ground in the stubble beside the car was absolutely the best. I didn't know the difference, but was told you were such a great farmer. We got to ride on the combine for a short while with you if we wanted to. I remember coming home from school one day and finding out that you broke one of your fingers. You'd caught your ring on the metal stairs coming down off the combine. I don't believe you wore rings while working much after that. I remember you being happy about the insurance you got for the broken finger though! I remember you telling us about the wildlife you would encounter while combining into the wee hours of the morning. Bears, coyotes, foxes, deer, moose they were thick at Hudson Bay near the newly broken land.
I distinctly remember having a discussion with you about money. Of course, I was going to university and thought I knew everything. I think we were talking about who I should be dating and it would be nice if the person had money. A sort of a philosophical conversation. I was quite insensed and said, "dad, money isn't everything you know!" I mean, who on earth would stoop to marrying someone for their money? His answer was so succinct and to the point...."no, but it sure helps." Those kinds of things have stuck with me.
When we visited you in the hospital, your face would light up and you would be so happy. I wish I would have stayed longer on each and every one of my visits. I was always having to leave and get on the road...and you were always wanting me to stay longer....I wish now that I had made those visits last much longer than I did.
You were a practical joker and one of the things I still have as a reminder is a shoe box full of safety pins. I guess I mentioned I need some once. You wrote "To Jean Love Dad" in black jiffy marker on the top. I think of you every time I see that box. I have pictures of you, but not nearly enough. I wish I had so many more, but there again, I don't. If anybody has any pictures of my dad, I would absolutely love to have copies. I think that's one of the best gifts you can give somebody...photos of their loved one that you might have sitting in your closet. They really mean the world to someone.
Dad, your shop was always as neat as a pin. You could fix most things, and even though it might take you awhile to figure it out, you would be successful in the end. I remember your set of funny-looking open drawers that were full of screws, nuts, bolts, nails, and you name it. You had them all sorted out in this really orderly fashion. You were a big game hunter and kept us fed with moose meat most years. We often had company staying at the farm and many of them came to Hudson Bay to hunt big game. Your shop was the place you hung the meat. When I think of all the buildings on that farm....all the equipment....all the land...I wonder how you had any time for yourself. I used to wonder how come you'd go to bed right after supper in seeding and harvest and be up by 5:00 a.m. I thought you were crazy. I remember you asking me why I didn't go to bed earlier. Well, I was a teenager and I thought it was cool to stay up until 11pm and then sleep in.. (Mom made sure I did my quota of housework and cooking...lucky for me or I would be useless in the house today). Now I know why you had to do that.
I remember you saying things to me like I might lay an egg if I kept laughing. You teased us kids and laughed and when we got mad or pouted you'd say "bad old dad"...I remember you saying things like, "oh yeah, wear out the old stuff first". You meant, we were asking you to do something we were perfectly capable of doing ourselves.
I still think you had some mid-Victorian values and ideas though. You were ultra conservative about many things. Now I understand why, but at the time when I was a teenager, I wanted to talk openly about everything including the birds and the bees. You put mom up to that. I guess I'm mid-Victorian too, because when she tried to have "the talk" with me, I said she didn't have to because I already knew "everything"....even though I really knew nothing. I think my face was flaming red for three days after. Neither you nor I were quite ready for the sixties I guess! You dad, had a knack for knowing what to do or say when I really needed someone. After a tiff with my boyfriend, you came out and sat on the step with me in the dark and told me one thing. You said, and I will never, ever forget this... "No boy is ever going to love you the way I do." I said, "I know dad." It made me cry, but turns out, you were right.
Dad, I always loved listening to you sing. You sang so much when I think of it. You'd be working away and just singing...mostly songs off the radio, I guess. You whistled too. You were a good dancer and took us to all the community hall dances. I just don't know what ever happened to events that were so much fun for the whole family. Dad, you would come in from the field and for entertainment would take the whole family for a drive around the country looking at the crops. We loved those intimate family times. We'd stop and get out and walk a little ways into the field, imitating your every move. You brushed your hands over the heads of the barley, waved your hands through the grain, and so did we. You cracked the heads of the wheat open and ate the grain inside...so did we. We'd watch the sun as it started to set. You were one helluva driver when you were looking at the crops though...even I remember that. Even so, you drove thousands of miles on combines, tractors and trucks and when I realized I couldn't see well at night to drive, it was you that I handed the wheel to. It was you who let my son drive with you to the lake, when I was such a basket case around a brand new driver. You were on morphine by this time, and I said you were so brave because you were under the influence. You would have done it regardless, but I'm a teaser too.
Dad, you were so handsome. Your hair was never out of place and you always liked your clothes pressed, even if they were for out working in the field and riding on the tractor. I so wish you were still here, but I would never have wanted you to continue on with the pain and suffering you were going through. I just always wanted to have you with me and I always will. I carry you in my heart and soul forever. Your are as much a part of me as I am of you. Until we meet again, my dearest dad.
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