“Like yesterday, Dad. Like yesterday.”
Thanksgiving ’86 came and went. My family of wife and child had just moved to Kansas City in the summer and we couldn’t get back to Texas to see Mom & Dad for either Thanksgiving or Christmas… or so I thought.
Dec 1, 1986. Mom called. Dad had a stroke. He was “alright”, but hospitalized, waiting to see what the long-term damage would be. Within a week I flew down to see him. He was in a rehab hospital, barely conversant, barely mobile. I walked into his room and he lit up. With a stroke victim's drunken-tongue he pushed out, “Hoppy, d'you see the gyp?” Hoppy is my nickname, taken from my middle name, Hopkins. (When I was 5 I got everyone to stop calling me that – everyone except Dad.) Gyp was a reference to his beloved gypsum rock carvings. I’d briefly stopped by the house to get Mom and saw an small Eskimo woman and a sled dog he’d been working on. He beamed with joy knowing that I shared his love of sculpting. During that visit, at his request, I helped Dad to the bathroom in his hospital suite. In the midst of that short walk Dad stroked out again, in my arms. He froze, never to speak again or signal any cognition. Dad was all but gone.
Dec 20, 1986. Mom called. Dad was gone.
Dec 22, 1986. Memorial service. If you’re interested, here’s what I said at the service.
Dec 25, 1986. We stayed a few more days in Texas to help Mom. On Christmas morning, Mom went with my brother over to his in-laws’. My wife, son, and I started the day with a quiet little Christmas for just the three of us and then joined the extended family. About twenty people raucously opened gifts. Someone handed me a present marked “From: Mom & Dad”. It seemed so strange to be opening a gift from someone who had just passed away. Stranger still was the silence that fell over the room. I didn’t understand why everyone paused what they were doing and watched me. Whatever was inside was heavy. I tore off the wrapping paper and took the lid off the shoebox. At this very moment in December 2011, just the same as twenty-five years ago, my breath is swept away from me. It was a gyp-rock carving… of a hand… holding a pen. In thirteen days – between Nov 17 and Dec 1 – Dad stopped everything else he was working on, started, and completed this carving for me.
And now I’m virtually at a loss for words. Dads… your child’s world… jump in it! Treasure the smallest things that you share together – they may wind up being the best, and the last, things you share. Dads, celebrate your child’s life. Especially as they enter adulthood, bless them when they return to the nest for laundry or food or money (often all three!), but also get out there in their world. What new interests have they found? How are they demonstrating wisdom? Connect their current accomplishments with baby-steps from their childhood under your roof. Remind them that their life today is a result of the love you poured into them for two decades. Ask them if they remember a sweet moment from their childhood. And expect to hear…
Like yesterday, Dad. Like yesterday.
Clark “Hoppy” Smith, Carl’s kid
Searching for great gift ideas that will distinguish you as thoughtful parents? Follow this link to see what the Smith Family of Wife and Children do for Christmas.
