The Workshop and a New Perspective....

It will be 6 years tomorrow that I said good bye to my dad on this earth. I celebrate the promise that I will see him again one day in heaven. It's true. Each year the sting of losing him unexpectedly becomes duller. The pain in the gut of missing someone I love so much becomes less prominent. The tears don't come as often.  But there are times that I just want to hear his voice or ask his advice. Then the tears come quietly, and I talk to him as if he were here.  It's about then, Izzy, my dog, senses the sadness and licks the tears from my cheeks. They would've liked each other.  More than anything, I become sad that I can't remember his voice as well, and I can't remember the details of the stories he told me of his life.  And even if I did try to retell his stories, I could never get the tone, humor and sarcasm in the way he did.  I wish he would've written them down. I wish I had some video of him to watch. I wish I could have just one more minute.

I have a box. A box to put everything special that reminds me of him in it. Pictures that were special, a journal to write to him in, the order of his memorial service, and even pictures of him at his service. I haven't looked in his box for a long time. I haven't written in the journal for years.

Today, I think I will take a moment and write to him. I will tell him again how much I miss him and his calls. The way he answered the phone with a a southern twang "YEL-low". We would spend hours talking about all matters big and small. He would get on his soap box and I would just listen as he became my biggest cheerleader in life.

I will tell him about my change in perspective as I've become older. That, as a child, the time he spent in the garage "working" on projects during evenings and weekends often left me feeling less important. Why didn't you come to my swim meets or Girl Scout activities? Why did you always want to be home in the garage with all that wood and tools and loud country music?  Why?

NOW I get it. I understand now, dad, it was where you felt the happiest. NOT because you loved me less or didn't care, but BECAUSE you just needed to. I know how much you loved me and I value those moments of pulling up a stool and talking to you for hours in your "shop" as you organized and made things from wood.  Today, when I smell fresh cut lumber my thoughts go directly to those moments.

Maybe it wasn't by accident that you were always there to help when I fell off my bike in front of the house, or that you were there to greet my friends as we came in and out of the house. I remember the night of my first real kiss on our doorstep after a date. I was a Junior in High School. It was after midnight and the house lights were off except for a glow in the garage.  There you were, waiting up for me "working" on some project under the flickering light of a florescent bulb. You were the first person I told about that kiss. And with that you turned off the light and we both went to bed. You just wanted to make sure I made it home safely.

When I started driving, you were always there with the garage door open, ready to greet me with a wave or do an inspection of my car tires and oil. Remember how you told me my "U joints were old" and not to drive faster than 55 or my wheels would fall off. I believed you! You were clever, because I know now that you would've NEVER let me drive a dangerous car. I listened...and never got a speeding ticket. Dad, in the moments you felt you'd lost control of life, I believe the "workshop" was your way to find it. I get it, I so get it now dad.

I will tell him how proud I am of him for serving in the Air Force.  That our frequent moves and his absence made me learn how to adapt quickly. With each move I couldn't wait to fix up my room. To surround myself with the things that I recognized and loved. The things that expressed who I was and made me feel happy.  I believe that constant change in homes gave me the desire I still have today to make each house a place that says "HOME" to me and our military family.  I still want to surround myself and the people I love with comfort and warmth. I am so grateful for that gift.

I believe your garage "workshop" was YOUR room. The place you couldn't wait to unpack and be at home in surrounded by what made you remember your passion and gave you peace. And, dad, I so get that too!

Yes, today I will write this down, and I will put it in his box. The wood box he made for me on my 19th Birthday. The box he lovingly cut out, nailed and glued out of scrap cedar in his "workshop". Just for me. Because he loved me so. And I will put it in my room along with my favorite things. And I will smile finally understanding the depth of that gift.

I love you too, daddy.

xoxoxo

Jodi