It was cold outside, but I was snuggled in my cozy bed in my beautiful old dorm room, if that is what you could call it. It was more like large guest bedroom in an old mansion. Life was good. I was a freshman at Marietta College. I had managed to find the balance between practicing the piano for hours, getting my work done to make As and Bs in my classes, pledging Sigma Kappa, attending fraternity parties, supporting the football team, spending time with my boyfriend, and making the thirteen-mile drive back and forth from 'my house', where my parents were always there for me. I was one of those weird eighteen-year olds who actually loved and appreciated my parents. My mom and dad loved each other all the time. They still went on dates. My dad came home for lunch. My mom always tried to look beautiful for 'her Jimmy.' My dad was not a man of many words, but when he spoke everyone listened. He was wise. He was kind, but he was strict. Everybody who knew my dad had a deep respect for him. And I dare say that most had an inexplicable love for him, even if they didn't know him well. Those of us who were privileged enough to know him and be loved my him...well we were the luckiest people in the whole world. And we loved him beyond words. Dad always had my back. No matter what, I knew that. He gave me that sense of security that all little girls crave. I knew that I was loved. I was protected. I had everything I needed, because he worked hard to be sure of that. He always slipped me a little extra cash when I would go out. When I was going on a date, he would slip me a twenty, wink, and say, "Here's your 'mad money'. If you get mad, you can always call a cab and come home."
So on that morning, January 17th, 1975, my dad's fifty-third birthday, when I was awakened by my sister, Roxanne, and my dear friend, Jan, I smiled and said, "Hi! What are you doing here?" Nothing could have prepared me for the horrible, heart-smashing, nauseating answer. I still shake and cry at the thought of it. "Dad....", Roxanne said. "He....had a heart attack."
That was it. He was gone. He was fine one minute, and then he was gone. He was only fifty-two years old the day before, and, as was their custom on Thursdays, he and Mom had gone out for lunch.
I remember screaming and crying and having a few people come give me hugs, but other than that I don't remember much. I don't remember the drive to Parkersburg. I don't remember walking into my house.
That day the world stopped.
Nothing made sense. Everything I saw was through the blurred vision of tears and confusion. I couldn't feel anything. I was numb. Except I remember feeling frustrated and angry at the rest of the world for going on. Why were people laughing and telling jokes? Why were they getting dressed up and going to parties? Why were they playing football? Singing? The world had stopped. Didn't they know that?
The funeral was a blur. People came in droves to honor my father. I was not surprised, but I still appreciate it to this day.
Everything changed in a flash. My young, beautiful, happy mother was a widow. She was devastated. I knew she needed for me to be strong. She had always been strong for me. It was my turn. I wanted so much to be strong for her. I also knew that I had to go back to school. In order to honor my dad, and all that he did for me, and all that he wanted for me, I had to go on. I had to learn how to answer people who asked me, 'Who's your daddy?' without falling apart. But the truth is, the next two years I made a lot of mistakes. In fact, if I could tear out a couple of pages from the annals of my life, I would probably choose those, because I was a mess.
But I made it. By the grace of God I made it. I mean that with all my heart. I didn't know it at the time, but God himself was watching over me with love. Little by little he drew me to himself. He revealed himself to me by bringing people into my life who knew him. He taught me how to study his Word. I learned to trust in Him, and I am full of joy because of His promises. He has promised me that because of Jesus, I am forgiven. I am His. Forever. I know that I will not only see my daddy again someday, but I will be with him for all eternity.
My momma is 89 now. She still has not even looked twice at another man. She still dresses up and hopes to make 'her Jimmy' proud. With every day she feels a little older, and a little bit closer to receiving the promises. Someday the world is going to stop again, but I will know this time, that this world is not all there is. I don't know exactly how it's going to be in heaven, but I know that it's going to be great.
'...Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession--to the praise of his glory.' Ephesians 1:13-14
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