Happy Father's Day

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