On May 21, 1919 a baby boy was born to a young couple, Grady and Lillian, in a poor, small mill town in Georgia.  He would be the first of five sons.  They named him Charles Columbus - after his father, Grady Columbus.  Charles grew up with his brothers enjoying the life of a small town and eventually meeting and marrying his sweetheart, Ruth, from a neighboring mill town.  Charles and Ruth’s family grew to seven children - the perfect number they told everyone.  I was fortunate enough to be child #4.

If my father were alive, he’d be 87 today.  He died in 1986 at the age of 67.  Our family has undergone so many changes since his death.  There are grandchildren and great-grandchildren born that know him only through family stories.  Today - his birthday - I miss him a lot. 

This morning at church the sermon was on our residence and how earth is only our temporary residence.  Someday we’ll be in heaven which will be our eternal home.  At the fellowship dinner after church, the minister played a video by Diamond Rio, God Only Cries - it has tender lyrics if you want to follow the link and read them.  I like to think that someday I’ll see my father again in heaven.

What I remember most about my father is his enthusiasm for life.  He was always ready to get out and do things. He was a people person. He was also a loving father. Once when I was around 5 years old, I cut my foot outside in the yard.  I remember crying for my daddy.  To me he was the one who could make everything better.  Even when I was an adult, I’d visit my parents, and when I’d leave, he’d stand in the driveway waving until I was out of sight. 

I’ve written about Daddy before.  I wrote a poem about him once a few years after his death.  I’ve shared it here once before, but I want to share it again in honor of his birthday. 

To Daddy
Are you up there, Daddy?
Sitting up in heaven
Watching us here on earth?
Laughing at us, wondering about us,
Or crying?
Life is such a crazy hodgepodge
Happiness - sadness - exhilaration - depression
All put together
Are you there? Seeing . . . and caring?

I miss you
I miss telling you about my victories and defeats
You always were interested
And wanted to know more.

Where are you?
I don’t understand death
I remember dreaming about you several years ago
In my dream, we were at the Flea Market
I heard your voice, your laugh
I saw your face - you were alive
I want that dream again

Mother told me that when she was nine years old
And her father died
She prayed that she would dream of him
Because she knew then, and only then, she could see him.
I’m so much older than nine now
Yet I still want to dream of you
I want to experience again the peace of your unconditional love.

I remember one day I visited you - I was a parent myself then
I had the flu, and you tucked a blanket around me
Set me in front of the fire and cared for me
One brief evening so many years ago
And yet I remember - with longing.

Maybe you were the only person who was completely on my side
No judgments. No expectations. Just acceptace - and love.

When I was a little girl
You were the one I wanted to comfort me when I was hurt or sad
I was special. I was Cabbie.

You were the one who told us stories
Of growing up with four brothers
Your adventures skinny-dipping in the Yellow River
Your near-miss in the lightning storm with Uncle James.

We children would crowd around you
In your little office behind the house
“Tell us more,” we’d plead,
And you’d oblige.

One Friday in 1986, you were visiting us
And we were at the Grand ol’ Opry laughing together
The next Friday we were gathered around your grave.
Life changes forever too quickly
No time for a final “I love you”
Or a smile, or a good-bye.

I want to drive up in your driveway again
And see you waiting for me
“There’s my Cabbie,” you’d say
And I would be a little girl once more
Safe, protected . . . in the arms of fatherly love.

(written in February 1993)

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 21st, 2006 at 6:37 pm and is filed under Birthday Honors, Family, Remembering, That's My Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.