~and I am my father's~

I have only one thing left that belonged once to my father.  It's an old stocking cap, navy and white in color that he wore during the last few months of his life.  If I remember right, he got it during his final months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments for the lung cancer he was doing battle with.  Although he was already nearly bald before he was stricken with cancer, the treatments to attempt to make him well once again had this way of thinning out even the little bit of hair that he had left.  The stocking cap must have made him feel better.  Now, 33 years later when I wear it, one thing is for sure.

I feel better too.

I've got plenty of other stocking caps and a dozen or more head wraps in my drawer to choose from, but for some reason I just always find myself choosing my dad's old cap when I need it on a cold and wintry day.  Funny, it almost seems as if he is right there beside me as I  make my way along life's path.  I think that's ok to feel that way.  I'm sure my father is with me always, but especially so when I have his old cap upon my head.  

Like father, like daughter.

I was only 27 years old when he passed away at the age of 59.  Seems more than a lifetime ago now.  I still remember his voice and his quiet demeanor.  If I close my eyes, I can still see him standing there at home, in the restaurant, or out in the harvest field.  I hope that I never lose sight of such things and that I'll always remember him.  But I'd be the first to admit that as the years go by and we are still apart from one another that sometimes the memories can't help but to grow dim.  But there's something about that old stocking cap that keeps me connected to the man who God chose to be my father.

He would be 92 years old if he were alive this day and for the life of me, I cannot imagine him as an old guy.  But an old man he would have been had cancer not taken him from us before he even had the chance to turn 60 years old.  My father's part of "the plan" of this life was completed on the 11th day of December of 1982 and for the years we had together with him, we rejoice and give thanks to God.

Even now at the age of 60 years old, I still continue to try and do things that would have made him proud of me.  I learned to do "good" by watching his wonderful example and the lessons that he quietly taught me have been invaluable for all of my life.  The gifts he gave me were ones that could have never been purchased.  The gifts he gave were of himself and for me, the 6th child of out 7 children, they remain most precious and valuable to this day.

For some reason tonight, I am thinking of him.  

I still miss him and from time to time, I definitely still need him to be around.

If you have lost a parent, perhaps it is true for you as well.

No matter how old we are, we will always be their "little one".

I am my father's.