Just another day being me

My Visitor

He came up my driveway on a golf cart, wearing faded bib overalls with a denim shirt on the outside. He wore a Caterpillar ballcap to one side with the brim flipped up; more of a result of that is just the way it landed than trying to make a statement.

At age 90 his once dark hair was white as snow. He had finally given in to the false teeth that once sat on the dash of his pick up truck, sliding this way and that way with each curve. When he smiled, he resembled the Cheshire cat...and he knew it.

He stared at me through his thick bifocals with his steel blue eyes. I knew he was reading me as if I were an open book.

I had just come home from a tough hitch at work.  I have a daughter who just started junior high, and one who is talking about grown-up things like career options and wedding ideas. If my mind were a pinball machine, the tilt sign would be flashing. In short, it was one of those days where real life had slapped me in the face as soon as I rolled out of bed.

After a few minutes that seemed like forever, he broke into a smile and asked me how things were going.

He no longer smoked. He no longer cussed. He seemed to be at peace with himself, his past, and every one around him. I felt like in some strange way I was staring at a mirror that had aged 40 years, except the reflection had already seen the last chapters of the book.

We talked about some of life's most important issues…and we talked about nothing at all. I could not help noticing we had similar inflections in our voice, almost identical facial expressions, and the same intent yet far away gaze when discussing something close to the heart.

I felt like we had so much catching up to do, but at the same time I needed sage wisdom for the here and now. He let me have my brief pity party, before laying things out there the way the cow ate the cabbage as he put it.

What is strange is that I knew he had been gone since '84; but I felt like he had been there all along. Would I be able to truly enjoy this moment without my mind telling me this experience was too surreal to be true?

All too quickly he turned to go, but not before shaking my hand. It was a strange rite of passage I had never experienced as a youth. I suppose the opportunity and never presented itself before. What 17-year-old randomly shakes hands with his father? We shook hands as grown men, looking at each other with the same squint and talking without words.

As I watched him drive back down the driveway, my eyes filled with tears, but not tears of sadness. They were tears of joy and tears of pride...tears of thankfulness, mixed with a few of regret. My mind was at ease and my heart was full, and I knew he would be back.

As certain as I know my name, I know the next time I am having a stressful day, or I am facing something that seems insurmountable, when I close my eyes at night I will see him come by for a visit. As my Heavenly Father recharges my spirit and whispers peace to me, my earthly father passes through my subconscious mind to let me know that I am doing okay.

Tonight I am very thankful for both.