Today I think that I'll share a short story that I wrote a while ago... This is dedicated to my Dad... gone too soon.
A father’s belated gift (Copyrighted 2014)
My
younger sister had wangled a business trip from Houston
to Buffalo in
order to come home for Mother’s Day.
After her meetings finished on Friday, she would fly into Logan Airport
where I would pick her up. We planned to
spend the weekend together with my mother.
My father had been dead for many years.
At
the time of this story, the drive to Logan
Airport took you right
down the Southeast Expressway and through ‘The Tunnel’. On a Friday afternoon, you were at the mercy
of the traffic – it could be at a standstill for hours. This day, I whizzed right through the city,
arriving about an hour before the flight was due.
In
those years, there were no restrictions on people approaching the gates. I relaxed in a seat near the door where my
sister would soon appear. From that
spot, I passed the time by watching the aircraft taking off and landing.
People
milled around, waiting to board a flight leaving for Los Angeles from my sister's arrival gate. One group stood right in front of me, an
older man saying goodbye to his daughter and her family. I tried not to eavesdrop, but something in
their body language drew me to their conversation.
“I’ll miss you Dad.”
“I’ll
miss you very much, my darling.” He
hugged his daughter tightly, closing his eyes. He pulled back and touched her shoulder length
brown hair.
“I really wish you would think about flying
out to see us this summer. It’s not a
long trip. You can stay a month or longer
if you like.”
“I’ll
think about it.” Her father smiled a
placating smile that only a parent can pull off. I had seen that look on my own father’s face.
“Think
about it, please. We are hoping to come back
for the holidays,” she added, trying to make him feel better.
“That
will be wonderful.” The sadness in his
words said it all. For him, being alone,
it was a long time from May to the Christmas holidays.
An
announcement to board their plane interrupted the conversation.
“Oh
Dad, I hate to leave you. Please fly out
and visit us.” She hugged him, tears filling her eyes.
“I’ll
think about it, my dear. Don’t worry
about me, I’m fine,” he whispered, the grief of her leaving etched in his lined
face.
“We
have to go.” She kissed him, touched his
cheek, and then, grabbed the hands of the children while her husband embraced the
older man. Seconds later, the family ran
down the passage way, waving back to where he stood. They were gone, the door closed, and he and I
were there alone, in what felt like a total vacuum. The life and vitality that filled the room only
moments before had been sucked out. Even
I felt it.
The
plane taxied away from the door. He stood in front of the large plate glass
window. I sat behind him. He watched for his daughter’s plane to take
off; I waited for my sister’s plane to arrive, both lost in our own thoughts.
A
few minutes later, the huge LA bound airplane lifted off the runway in front of
us. He knew it was her airplane. Without thinking, he reached up his hand and
touched the aircraft through the glass as the plane fought its way up, higher
and higher - a final contact, the final embrace with a child as she flew
away.
In
that one moment, the poignant tableau of a father trying to connect with his
daughter one last time touched me so that even though he had been in my presence
for all of ten minutes, his words and actions stayed with me to this day. I often wonder if his daughter knew how much
her father loved her and missed her as soon as she was out of his sight. Did she know how much her leaving hurt him,
how he couldn’t let her go, yet did?
The
sorrow of the loss of my own father surfaced. I have learned over time to keep the sadness
of living without my Dad locked away.
Yet, this day, this father and daughter interchange unlocked it
all. I yearned for one last goodbye
moment, like the one I had witnessed. I
hadn’t had that. One minute he was there
– the next minute he was gone.
I
wanted him to see me like this father saw his daughter, a grown woman with
children of her own. I craved to see the
love on this stranger’s face for his daughter on my father’s face for me as he
touched my face and hair – once more. I
wished for things I couldn’t have.
I
felt like embracing this man for his unexpected show of love for his child, for
touching me so deeply. I knew that I
couldn’t, that it would be intruding, and maybe embarrassing to him. When his daughter’s airplane disappeared from
sight, he turned, cleared his throat, and looked at me. It was my chance to speak to him.
“Not
easy to say goodbye,” I offered.
“Not
easy at all.”
“How
lucky you all are.” I allowed my own loss
to color my response.
He
reached down and patted my hand. “We are
all lucky in our own way,” and he was gone.
I
sat alone, waiting for my sister's plane to arrive, my thoughts staying with my
father. He had died when I was in my
early twenties, yet he would always be a part of my life, of the person that I had
become, of what I do, and what I pass on. I treasure the fact that I have his eyes, his
curly hair, his laugh…. I’m tall, like
him. I repeat his wise sayings to my
family and friends. He taught me to be resilient. He gave me character.
By
watching this man’s actions, I understood a little more how much a father loves
his children, how much my father had loved me.
For that realization, I am eternally grateful to this stranger and his daughter.
THe End
Happy Father's Day to all!
Till,
Judi
