An Everyday Presence

Talking about my Dad is a tricky thing.  I want to share, but I do not want pity or sympathy or comforting words, and when I start off with the key part of our relationship, kind and lovely people tend to say they are sorry, as any normal person would.

I was four years old when my dad died. 

This single event shaped me into who I am as a woman, wife and mother.  My memories do not have a point to start from without the knowledge that my dad was gone.  I grew up with the extreme awareness that life is uncertain and time is not something you always have.  It instilled a driving need to imprint myself on my children, so they would know me and remember me.  I desperately wanted to be a presence in their everyday moments.

I know that my Dad was handsome and smart.  He loved music and on family bike rides, my baby seat was on his bike and he rocked an awesome 1970's mustache.  He was in the Navy (briefly), he was a fisherman off the coast of Alaska, and he was a volunteer fireman.  I know there is so much more that makes up him, the guy that is my Dad, but I really only need to know one thing. 

He loved me and he told me and my sister every day.  I treasure that knowledge, albeit gleaned second hand from my Mom, but it is very good knowledge to own.  I, in turn, have daily told my children I love them.  It's so common at our house, their friends expect to hear me say it every morning as they all walk out the door.

"Bye!  Have a good day!  I love you!"

And their very expectations mean that I have succeeded.  I am present in my children's daily life.  I am so very blessed!

This post is inspired by the prompt of the day at NaBloPoMo and prompt number 1 at Mama's Losin' It!