Daddy's Hands

I've been thinking about my dad a lot these last few weeks.  He died two years ago, on November fourth.  I thought sitting at the cemetery would help, but it didn't.  This morning I realized that I needed to write about him.  I apologize for the self-indulgence, but of course, if you'd rather not, you don't have to read these particular blogs. 

I liked the Judds, the mother-daughter duo, I still love to sing along with their CD.  But, there was one song I usually skipped past - "Daddy's Hands."  I loved the lyrics, but they didn't fit my situation.  I had never seen "father's hands folded silently in prayer."  Yes, his hands were gentle and yes, he could discipline with those hands!  Yes, his hands were calloused, but I never saw them folded in an attitude of prayer.  The song just made me too sad.

This morning, as I was walking on the treadmill, the lyrics to that song forced their way into my thoughts.  As I sang, I could actually feel my dad's hands. 

I was always a Daddy's girl and once when I was driving Dad to a chemo treatment, he asked me to tell him one of my favorite memories.  There would be many to voice later, but at the time, I thought of one: walking in the pasture holding hands with my dad.  I loved that time alone with him.  We shared a love of animals and I always welcomed a chance to check on the few cows we pastured near the house.

Back then, his hands were always dark, the dirt and grime from Rockwell Industries, followed each and every line, it circled every callous.  Later, when he retired his hands began to soften and he would often fuss about them.  He'd call himself a "sissy." 

I loved holding his hands while I drove him to chemo treatments and I always reached for his hand when he was in the hospital.  His grip was always firm, not as firm as it had been when I was a little girl, but firm just the same.  And that firm grip conveyed one thing - his love for me. 

A few months before he died, my dad did what so many of us had prayed for through the years.  He turned his life over to God.  He recognized Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.  And he began to fold his hand in prayer. His baptism was one of the most memorable events of my life.

In the end, cancer didn't take his life like we thought it would.  A heart attack, totally unexpected did that.  But before it was over, I was holding my daddy's hand.