Happy Father’s Day to all the men who touch and inspire the lives of children in a positive way! For Father’s Day weekend, I want to honor and remember the essential man who helped shape my life. My father wasn’t perfect, but he loved our family and sacrificed for us. My father worked most of his vacations to help pay for our Christian education. He never complained about how much we “cost” him, but he unselfishly gave as he promoted our family values and needs above some of his own plans and dreams. He was devoted to our family. My mother had the same values. This kind of unselfish love and devotion leads to reciprocal love and care. It impacts future generations.
Daddy loved being a father. My father was happy to travel from Northern California so his father and siblings could meet me. His mother died too young, before my father was married, so I never knew her, except through pictures, a couple of letters, and the memories of her children. She lived on through her children as they cheerfully lived the values she taught them.
So often there is an essential woman or two behind a good boy or man, and this was true in my father’s life. His mother, Cora, called him, “My Darling Son.” She adored him, his older brother, and his older sister. She made a happy home for them during the difficult years of the Great Depression. Cora was devoted to her children, and loved them unconditionally. She taught them to cherish family, to do their best, to be loving, helpful, and cheerful. As an added plus, she was a lot of fun!
Although his parents were divorced, there were plenty of visits. His father faithfully paid child support for the care of the children, but even child support and his mother working as a nurse was not enough and times were very tight during the Great Depression. My father remembered they had to put cardboard in the bottom of their too-small shoes to cover the holes in the soles until they could save up for new shoes. Later, times were better financially, so when he had his own family, my father made sure we had proper leather shoes with room to grow. Once a week, he also polished all our shoes to a military shine.
The other essential woman in my father’s life was my mother. She adored him. He adored her, too. Though life was not always easy, they had a true love story. My mother was devoted to my father and the rest of the family. She was loving and loyal. My mother loved my father unconditionally. Unconditional love freed him to be all he could be. It freed him to love us more. So often people are afraid to love unconditionally. There is fear of vulnerability which might leave one open to being hurt. It’s true, sometimes it does lead to being hurt, but that’s a chance one must be willing to take to find a full, loving life. Only unconditional love awakens and opens the heart of another person. Unconditional love lets in light and love. It’s the kind of love God offers us. One time, while my mother, brother and I were 400 miles away visiting our grandparents, Dad wrote to her: “You have dug down deeper inside me than anyone I know. You are life, happiness, companion…my better half. I love you more each day and year…I’m crazy for you. I miss those wonderful children…Wish you were here, Sweetheart.” Love produces love.
My father was working at the coast. It was about five hours away. He was gone for three months. My pregnant mother and I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa in Camino. During this period, my father sent informative, descriptive letters in red ink to my mother. In one letter, my father wrote, “Hi Sweetheart…Oh! but it was a beautiful night out. No fog. The stars smiled softly down in the mellow moonlight. The ocean was beautiful. Pure white caps topped the dark blue ocean…kiss [Charlyne] for me.” My father was homesick and unable to get home very often. One of the times my mother sent him a care package, he wrote:
“Hi Honey Pie…Man those cookies and bread are good. Thanks a million Sweetheart. Write back prontoitis [quickly]…Hoping to be together soon. I remain your Rockport correspondent who leaves you with this thought – Dare to act and think for yourself as long as it is right in God’s sight. Lovingly, George”
Another letter ended with, “Bye for now. Wonderful to read your letters. I love you. Heartache Mannes.” In a different letter, he wrote, “Keep in good health and cheerfulness, Lovingly yours, George.” I love what he wrote in this letter: “…let’s let love in…Oh Darling, I love you so much.”
Once, when my mother hadn’t written for a while, my father included a penny, as in “a penny for your thoughts!” Ever the optimist, he wrote “Hi Darling, No mail yet. I imagine it’s on its way though.” I don’t know what my mother wrote to him because my father kept very few letters, but one of his letters mentioned mail call at noon when, “There were three letters from you. Sure was happy.” Some final advice was to “Keep fighting with patience and love. These two words all the time win the final victory. Give my Love to Charlyne, the folks; dream of me, I’ll dream of you. Love, Georgie Porgie.”
When my father, George, was teased at school with this popular English nursery rhyme, he would answer with a grin saying, “Georgie-Porgie Puddin’ and Pie, kissed the girls and made them cry – more, more, more.” When one is being bullied, it helps to have a sense of humor. It diffuses the situation. Both of our parents taught us to be kind and try to diffuse a situation, but they also said to get away if the situation became dangerous. Not all bullies are content with using only hurtful words. My mother balanced dealing with bullies by saying, “We don’t know what kind of home they have.” She always stuck up for the underdog, even if he or she didn’t deserve it. As a newly licensed sixteen year old, I pulled up to the stop sign down the block from my home, ready to turn right. I noticed a group of younger teens beating up a much younger boy on the opposite corner. I whipped around the corner, pulled to a screeching stop at the sidewalk, and jumped out of the car. “Stop it, stop it,” I called as I ran to break up the slaughter. The boys all ran off. I asked the bloodied child, “Are you alright, can I help you?” He never answered but ran home in another direction. Our family did not tolerate bullying. Life is so much happier when there is kindness, protection, and love.
My father loved to sing. He grew up with lots of music in his home. At night, he dreamed entire orchestras in which he was the conductor. He could hear every instrument in his dreams. He sang solos, duets (especially with my mother), in quartets, and in choirs. Both of my parents made sure there was a lot of music in our home. I have fond memories, especially of Sundays discussing the newspaper and classical music with my father. It was exhilarating stuff for a curious child. Good music makes a happy life. Music is love.
My mother’s handwriting in green ink spelled out her love for my father, “Hi Darling, Just thought I’d let you know how much I love you…I’d like you to know that your love means more than most anything to me. If I’ve done anything, ever, to hurt you in any way – please forgive me. Please write – we’re lonely & want to hear from you, darling – Love for Always, Jeanne.” My mother was very sensitive to the possibility one could accidently hurt someone’s feelings. She wrote this letter while she, my brother, and I were vacationing with family, and Daddy was working. My mother believed forgiveness smoothed every-day living. Writing A Year of Wearing My Mother’s Perfume has given me time to reflect and discover more about what my mother taught. She taught me more than she knew about love, devotion, sacrifice, generosity, and forgiveness.
When I was three, my father was making maps of the forest around Tahoma at Lake Tahoe for the U.S. Forest Service. During this job, we lived in a tiny forestry cabin with no running water. One September morning, I awakened early as usual. My mother was still asleep, so my father opened the door to escort me to the outhouse. To our surprise, an early snow had fallen during the night. We turned the corner at the back of the cabin. There we saw animal tracks in the snow. My father loved teaching me things from nature and was glad to identify the animal tracks, “Those are bear prints, Charlyne.” I was afraid, and I wanted to go straight back into the cabin. My father had other plans and took the time to show me where the bear had entered the clearing, ambled over, and sniffed around the cabin for something to eat. I noticed the bear had been looking under the window where my bed was! Now I urgently wanted to go back into the cabin. My father said, “The bear didn’t find anything to eat. Let’s follow the bear tracks.” He pointed to the tracks walking away from the cabin and back into the woods. “The bear went somewhere else to look for food. You are safe.” In my short life, my father had always protected me and told me the truth. He had never let me down before. I decided I didn’t need him to check behind the outhouse door, and I went in by myself. Trust is important in a relationship. Without trust, love cannot flourish.
While looking through some files, I found my father’s track and field ribbons. Dad was involved in running and many field events during his middle school and high school years, including the Track Decathlon at his Los Angeles high school. He held some records in the broad jump. His major in college was Physical Education. In our childhood Dad would take us to Rocketdyne Park to swim. I was so proud of the way he would climb the ladder of the high dive, do a handstand, and walk on his hands all the way to the edge of the diving board, where he would pause for effect, then execute a perfect dive. He was interested in staying healthy and keeping in shape.
I don’t think I ever saw my father upset while doing chores, no matter how tiring the job. He was cheerful, often whistling or singing while he worked. He was happy to make things better for us. He was thankful to be able to work. He took pride in his work. In turn, we were proud of his work and very thankful for him. My father and my mother taught us to leave a place (or person) better than we found it. It’s something I continue to practice in life.
I had a wonderful father who liked to play outdoors with us. He bought a used bicycle for my first bike. He cleaned it and painted it baby blue to match my new doll’s dress, then he taught me to ride it. He bought bicycles for my brother, and later for my sister, as well; buying bigger bikes as we grew. Daddy took us camping under the stars. He played with us at the park. He played catch with us in the back yard.
Dad loved to spend time with the family. He took us to the beach, the mountains, the desert, and ever so many other places. He played in the snow or water with us. My father loved to read to us, as did my mother. I felt loved because my parents enjoyed spending time with me and my siblings. Spending time together with family makes a happy home. It smooths over the rough spots which inevitably happens from time to time. Our family was the kind of family who said, “I love you” to each other multiple times every day. Heading to work, or school, or the store, etc., “I love you” was always said. “I love you, too,” came the answer with an affectionate hug and smile.
My father learned how to do mechanical things from my mother’s father. Whenever my brother wasn’t available to help him on a vehicle, my father would call me to hand the tools to him. He had everything laid out on his workbench like it was a surgical operating room. From under the hood or under the vehicle, he patiently described the tool if I didn’t know which one it was. Once a week, my father checked all the fluids and tires on our vehicles and washed the car windows and mirrors. My father was generous in all he did. Even when I was an adult, he would take care of my car whenever I visited home, or if he visited me. He taught me to drive; telling me to pretend I had a raw egg between my foot and the gas pedal. He liked everything to be smooth, including driving. My father emphasized highway safety, obedience to the laws and rules, as well as being a courteous driver. He pointed out the big trucks which needed plenty of room. I had no fear around them because my father taught me how to safely coexist on the highways with tractor-trailers.
One November, after my parents moved to the East Coast, my father wrote a letter to me which included these words: “Dannielle & Mom are looking at old family pictures. I’m surely glad we took lots of pictures of our children. Many happy loving times are brought to mind…” He loved us! It’s important to make happy memories. It’s vital to be loved. Love is what carries one through the difficult times. Dad loved Valentine’s Day because it was a chance to further demonstrate how much he loved his family. We were showered with boxes of candy and cards with thoughtful, sometimes funny sentiments. But every day felt like Valentine’s Day in our house because of love. Dr. Gary Chapman wrote about the five love languages which are words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts (this can be as simple as a flower from the garden), acts of service, and physical touch. I was blessed in my family because all the love languages were used regularly. Love thrives in this kind of healthy environment. If you didn’t experience this, it’s something you can learn and practice. In John 15:12, Jesus said: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.” Tell someone you love them. If there is no one to tell you, I will say it: “I love you.” God’s Agape love, family love, and friendship love are beautiful elements for a happy life.
One week before Thanksgiving, my father called to tell me he had to go to the hospital. My mother was at work, and he didn’t want to disturb her there, but he wanted somebody to know where he was going. He had been feeling weak and tired, most unlike himself. He drove to his doctor’s office. After some tests revealed extremely low iron counts, he was transported by ambulance to the hospital. My father had a series of tests which revealed he had non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Eventually, he was transferred to a large, teaching hospital, where he was diagnosed with two other cancers: Acute Lymphatic Leukemia and Acute Myeloid Leukemia. My mother took a leave of absence from the OB-GYN office where she worked. I had always seen love in action, but now I saw the extraordinary lengths to which love will go and suffer with a loved one. My mother stayed with my father in his hospital room six days and seven nights a week. She encouraged him, loved him, and tended him with every ministration she could. One day a week, she would go home to do laundry, take care of the mail and bills, water the plants, and whatever else needed to be done. Then, she was back by my father’s side, as she slept in a reclining chair. He drew strength and courage from her presence. Meanwhile, early on when he could, my father was going around to other patient’s rooms to encourage them with good cheer, Bible verses, and prayers. He came home for Thanksgiving break. My family and I were there when he came home from the hospital. Evening found my daughters playing the piano while my father sang along.
The next day, I took him to the mall to see the Christmas decorations. As I pushed him along in his wheelchair, no one would look at my father, smile at him, or say hello. It broke my heart. My father was friendly and outgoing to everyone, but now it seemed he was marginalized. It was the first time I noticed that most people look away from heartache. It’s so easy to brighten someone’s day with a smile and a cheery hello. It’s what my mother and father taught our family to do.
Five days before Christmas, my father began his chemotherapy treatments. It was a miserable time to be in the hospital. I sent a letter to my father sharing everything in my heart: I specifically thanked him for all the wonderful things I could remember.
I lived in another State, but in the midst of home duties, job interviews (I was going back to work after staying home to take care of my children), taking some legal-assistant classes, jury duty, getting my notary public license, and working in a library, I called, wrote, and visited all I could.
Just a few months later, in March, my father was losing his will to live. The experimental cancer treatments were ravaging him. I alternated between sadness for my father and cheerfulness as I did the Children’s Story Hour and other duties at the library. Life is full of dichotomies. At the hospital, I walked past my father’s room because I didn’t recognize the patient in the bed. However, it was the right room number, so I went in with an encouraging smile for my father who now looked like Gandhi after a hunger strike. Except for his eyes, Daddy was nearly unrecognizable as my father. He was in a lot of pain. All he wanted was to go home. The hospital said it was too late to go home, he would never survive the trip.
Shortly after I returned home, my father cried over the phone as he told me he was going to be anointed by the pastor the day before his April birthday. In the Bible it says, “And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him,” James 5:15. Notice, it doesn’t explicitly promise physical healing. It says the prayer of faith shall save the sick and sins will be forgiven. Sometimes, God does physically heal a person. But even if he wasn’t physically healed, my father wanted his sins to be forgiven. I prayed with my father. Replacing the telephone receiver, I was suspended between worry, prayers, and hope.
After the phone call, my mother stepped out in the hall to speak with the doctor. He told her Dad’s condition was “a B+.” My mother said, “Please tell me the truth. I’m a nurse and I can see my husband is dying!” The doctor admitted Dad had a few days at most to live. My mother called. “If you want to see your father before he dies, you need to come right away.” We quickly made the arrangements for the day-long trip back to the city to see Dad.
My stomach tightened as the car circled ever higher in the cavernous city parking lot. Would I make it in time? Rushing through the hospital halls, I paused to wipe away some tears, catch my breath, and put a brave smile on my face. I didn’t know what I would find in his room. Relieved to see my father, I kissed his cheek. Dad motioned for some ice chips on his tray. Bending, as over a baby, I spooned clear ice crystals into his swollen, blackened, sore-encrusted mouth. The melting ice dribbled down the side of his mouth. He couldn’t swallow. Despite all this, he said to me, “I love you.” Oh, yes! “I love you, too, Daddy!” When all else fails, love remains.
All of stayed around the clock and took turns going into his room. My mother, faithful to the end, would not leave his side, even to eat, so we brought her food. We took turns soothing Dad, telling him we were all there, telling him how much he was loved by us and by God. We sang to him and prayed over him. Each ragged breath seemed to be his last.
Finally, wearied and worried, we fell asleep one by one in the middle of the night; some draped on couches and chairs, and some on the carpeted waiting-room floor, too tired to care about the filthiness of it all. Last of all my mother fell asleep in my father’s hospital room. Before dawn, my brother-in-law awakened and went to check on Dad. He alerted my sleeping mother, then went to the nurses’ station. My father died while we were all sleeping. I thought of what our family said before retiring every night: “Good night, sleep tight. Sweet dreams. I love you. See you in the morning.”
Three days after he died, we got ready for church. It was a beautiful Spring Day. The Dogwoods were in full bloom. You may ask, “How could you all smile for the camera?” 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 is my answer. In case you don’t have a Bible, here is what it says: “But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren [brothers and sisters in the Lord], concerning them which are asleep [dead], that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him. For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent [precede – Strong’s Concordance] them which are asleep. For the Lord Himself shall descend from Heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words.”
We have hope to will see our loved ones again. Nothing can hurt my father now. He rests until the beautiful Resurrection Morning. Hope springs eternal for the heart trusting God, and my mother had done a splendid job teaching us all to have hope in God’s word. The first Sabbath after my father died, we went to church. After lunch, we hiked to some beautiful waterfalls in the mountains. My mother needed the fresh air and sunshine after all the months she spent at the hospital by my father’s bedside. Nature is healing. My father spent his life encouraging us to “Keep your chin up, Sweetie Pie.” So, we did.
My father sacrificed a lot for our family. It was a sacrifice of love. Fathers are not perfect, but many of them give their best. Because of my father, I’m a better person. He loved me and believed in me. He encouraged me with phrases like, “You can do it.” I’m glad I loved and honored him while he was still alive. I honor him in this blog, but I also honor him when I embrace his values and treat others the way I would like to be treated. Yes, there were times when I needed to forgive him, or he needed to forgive me. No one is perfect. An important component of devotion and love is the act of forgiveness. This Father’s Day weekend, love your father and forgive him if he needs it. Not every father is a good one because some men have been mistreated and don’t know how to be a good father. As my mother unfailingly reminded us, “We don’t know what kind of home they have.” Remember, you would not be here without the father you had. Forgiving others is emotionally healing for yourself. Forgiveness, along with a fresh start, is the opposite of the current cancel culture. And in case you also need forgiveness, ask God (our wonderful Heavenly Father who IS always good) to forgive you, then forgive yourself. Next, as both of my parents taught: look for the good in people and in life. I believe in love, devotion, and forgiveness
Take care,
Charlyne