Inheritance

This week marks ten years since my father was given the gift of a new liver and kidney. That life-saving surgery gave my family six more precious years with a man we treasured immensely. In a roundabout way, I was reminded of all the priceless (some tangible, some more abstract) gifts that were given to me by him posthumously.

I don't remember well the morning my dad died, as it was a bit of a blur that I don't care much to recall. What I do remember is leaving a very ill man the night before and promising him I'd return the following day. When the morning came, I can remember my phone vibrating next to me as I was awakening from the early sun. It was my aunt. I let it go to voicemail, as my heart already knew, and it just couldn't handle hearing those words. My best friend. My default... my safe place. My dad. I still have my dear aunt's dreadful message from that day in my voice-mailbox. Not saved, but not deleted. And certainly never repeated. Everything that happened that day, from that moment on, is gone from my memory. I don't remember if the tears came before or after I heard my aunt's message. I can't recall who I connected with first. Did I call my aunt right back, or did I call my mom first? How did my spouse find me? Or did I find him? I do remember walking out the front door that overwhelmingly bright morning and immediately settling my eyes on the largest, blindingly white feather I had ever seen. Now, I live in central Florida close to the Gulf of Mexico- I believe that feather very well could have been from an egret, a heron, or perhaps even an ibis. But I also believe in a Christian, biblical God that promises an afterlife. And one cool thing about my dad's death, is he accepted the Lord into his heart just days before he parted. What I guess I'm trying to say is: I'm not one to go looking for "signs", but I will never hear somebody tell me my father didn't place that feather there to show me his unending love that life-changing day.

Daddy was an incredibly thoughtful man, almost to a fault. I'm certain it's where I got my own sentimental soul. A few months prior to the rapid decline of my father's already-deteriorating health, he sneakily asked my spouse to obtain a very precious necklace of mine. I'd wear the necklace every day, never taking it off, not even for bed. Typically, a gold link would snap, and I would take it to the jeweler for repair. It's surprising to me that I never lost the little thing. The pendant sat in my jewelry box for about four years after breaking it for the last time. My father passed away in October of 2020, less than a week from his 62nd birthday. That December, I received my third glimmer from Daddy. Under my momma's Christmas tree was the opal pendant he had bought me roughly fifteen years earlier- repaired, cleaned, and good as new. Grief and gratitude brimmed my eyes. He always did make Christmas magical for his "girls". Of course, there are all the relics from Daddy's extensive collection that were given secondhandedly to me by Momma. His leather vest, old smoke tin, and a few things I gave him personally are just some other priceless mementos I hold onto. But nothing could replace that necklace. Except...

The one gift I believe came from my dad that I find most notable, is both tangible and abstract. I thought I had just experienced the most impactful day of my life. Yet, just three weeks later, I made a miraculous realization: I was pregnant with my rainbow baby. A Summer baby, sweet Jean, derived from her pappy, Russell Eugene. And man... is she the gift that keeps on givin'. Born six weeks early, she displayed his strong will the moment she joined us this side of Heaven. When I finally got to bring her home from the NICU, I discovered all the other features he sent with her. She has the same dimple he used to keep covered with his long beard, along with his silly long, slender toes. I learned about the term "stork bite" from the vascular birthmark now hidden by the dainty curls on her neck. I know her love of guitars & things with wheels is making him grin, and all her further discoveries making him beam. In a way, it's almost like still having him with me.

My father was an easygoing, uncomplicated kind of man. Among some of his earthly prizes were simply his family, his truck, and the wide porch he would sit back on each day. They say you "can't take it with you when you go", and that's quite alright with me. Because if I play this life right, I know where I'll end up. And the inheritance that's greatest... will, in fact, be there too.