~and I can't wait to hug him once again~

My father died in late 1982 after enduring the pain and suffering of lung cancer for over 18 months.  Two weeks before Christmas Day on the 11th of December, I got the call in the early morning hours from the hospital back home in Hutchinson, Kansas that he had died.  I had seen him the day before and even though I knew how sick he was at the time, I figured sure that I would see him that next day.

I didn't.
He was already gone and it was too late.

My dad was only 59 years old when he passed away and I was just 27 myself.  I was a young wife and mother of a tiny little 2-year old boy.  At the time, hospitals weren't too obliging in the allowance of children under a certain age to visit the sick in their care.  I would sneak my little Ricky up the back stairwell of Hutchinson Hospital climbing 3 flights of stairs, all the while admonishing him to do one thing.

"Shh!  Don't say anything.  Be very quiet.  Grandpa wants to see his little boy."
And he was.

For years and years, I had a couple of personal goals in life that related to my dad.  The first was that I wanted to live past my 59th birthday, to attain an age that he was not able to.  In late October of 2015, I did just that.  The other goal was to be able to help take care of my mom after he was gone and do things that would make my father proud of me.  I hope that I have done that as well.  I miss him and I love him even still today.

The harvest season is in full swing here in this part of the world, and combining crews are traveling up and down the country dirt roads and highways finishing up fields, and then moving on north to Oklahoma and Kansas.  I think of my dad when I see wheat being cut and long lines of trucks as they wait patiently at the elevator here in town.  For over 25 years, my dad was out on the road with his own crew of harvesters bringing in the crops of farmers from southwestern Oklahoma all the the way back northward through Kansas, Nebraska, and both of the Dakotas.  When he brought in the last crops of 1977, it was time to stop.  For a variety of reasons, my folks thought it was better to quit while ahead.  It didn't take long for my dad's health to go downhill.  He loved the harvest and it broke his heart to no longer be a part of it. A great depression set in for him, one that he never really could shake off.  In 5 years more, he would be gone.

If you didn't get the chance to meet my father in this life, then you missed the opportunity to know someone who exemplified what a good and decent person looks like.  My dad never laid a hand on me in anger, never once saying anything bad or demeaning to me as a kid or a grownup.  When I did something wrong, and I'm sure there were many times that I did, he would just look at me with the saddest of expressions and tell me that he was disappointed.  That in and of itself was worse than any spanking or grounding that I could have been given.  

He was the father of 7 children and Dad worked hard to take care of us all.  In his own quiet way he taught me lessons of kindness, caring for others, and staying humble all throughout my life.  He was a good teacher, a fine role model, and indeed the greatest man I ever knew.   No matter how long I shall live, one thing will always be for certain.

I will never forget him.

My dad chewed Red Man tobacco and when he would spit it out, a good portion of the juice would land on the truck door.  He was so happy harvesting the crops of summer.  I will see him in Heaven some day.  I can't wait to hug him once again!
  

                                   ~wheat harvest memories from the summer of 1976~