Human Touch, Tangible Evidence of My Origin

As I sit here this morning, I realize that both Mom & Dad are no longer accessible in the physical. No longer a phone call away, or a short trip down the road.

Gone are the moments when I walk up the long wooden handicap ramp, pull on the aluminum storm door and hear the squeak of an old door, unlocked early each morning in hopes of a visitor.

Once in the foyer, anticipation would build as I entered the Living Room. My first touch would be his left shoulder, as he predictably awaits in the recliner just inside the room.

Then comes his right hand as he reaches over to cover mine, his way of saying welcome, distracted momentarily from Fox News, which was always playing before this old WWII warrior, patriot, conservative saint.

We'd then make conversation about what had happened in recent days, sharing any thoughts about current events, some often filtered by the distance between our political and theological realities.

Then, he'd say, "I got some mail I need you to look at." Usually a copayment on meds from V.A.! The last assignment was the online renewal of his driver's license back in August.

Yes, he was still driving though in his 100th year! I now have that laminated document on our chest of drawers as a forever reminder, that nothing is impossible!

He was one of the "Greatest Generation", the more silent of generations; myself a Boomer, soon birthed after his return from the South Pacific.

The older he got, the more he shared from that long and life threatening two-year period, which for him began almost immediately upon turning the age of 18.

Respect is an understatement!

He was the man I always leaned on. Taught me to love God, to throw a ball, to fish and hunt, how to work hard, and yes, not to blow my earnings!

Early on, I learned how one should balance life, mentored by the best father ever. One who was always available to provide respite, rescue and recovery when youthful stupidity unraveled those securities.

Today, I will again visit their home, now being vacated, soon transfered to new owners.

Last week his earthen tabernacle was buried, after sad taps were played by a Navy Honor Guard. This morning, I sit alone, his physical touch lost forever.

However, treasured memories are still so real, such as the sense of his warm naked back against my chest, as he hoisted a nearly drowned five-year-old show-off kid from under the water. I had prematurely removed my life jacket at the river. Strangely enough, I can even feel the clump of hair I held on to, just between his shoulder blades as he carried me to shore!

Do I miss him? I'll let you be the judge!