Daddy was not one to cry needlessly, but when his kids were injured, sick, or received unfair treatment, he cried. When we made tacky Father’s Day cards, blue eyes misted. When he dropped me at college tears fell, and when I lost my baby, though miles away, in my heart I know he cried.
Once sitting in the airport waiting to board, the family started a round of good-byes. Daddy cried. I cried. Soon everyone was crying.
“He started it!” I blurted, pretending to lay blame. I was right. He did.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I made my way to the restroom to freshen up. I knew something was wrong when I saw the urinals. My eyes had been so blurry, I’d stumbled into the men’s restroom. At least now everyone was laughing.
Daddy is older now, his broad muscular body weakened from disease. But Daddy still has tears. He still cries for his kids – an overflow from a tender heart.
He can’t understand what he did to deserve our love. But I know. He possesses the Father’s heart. He has allowed God’s love to permeate his soul, and it just seeps out through the cracks as Daddy’s tears.
(He is gone now, and I miss him. Jan. 15, 2008)