Daddy’s Hands

My daddy died when I was 19 years old. I was a freshman at Western Kentucky University. He had been sick for 2 years. That’s not right. He had been sick my entire life. He had Type 1 Diabetes. He got it when he was 19 years old. So every day of his life he took a shot of insulin. When I got older, and wanted to be a nurse, I used to give him his shot. It still makes me cringe. But it didn’t bother him at all. Daddy worked really hard my entire life. Sometimes he worked 2 jobs. That was back when moms stayed home. When they needed some extra money Daddy would work nights at a buddy’s gas station.

There are parts of my daddy’s funeral that I remember like they just happened. And other things I wish I remember. I do remember the people at the visitation. There must have been hundreds of people. We chalked that up to Daddy being so young when he died, he was 41. I think Daddy’s death was a reminder to his friends, and co-workers that we are all mortal, and we too shall die. But I remember people coming up to me and telling me how much they thought about my dad. One guy came up to me and said “You’re Cindy, aren’t you?” I didn’t know the guy from Adam. I said I was. He said that my Daddy talked about me all the time and he was so proud of me. That is something that has stayed with me. Daddy always had a great sense of humor and would find things funny in just about any situation. I’ll never forget when we were pulling up in front of church for the funeral and one of the guys from the funeral home got out of the hearse in front of us and slammed the door on his leg. This guy always had a smile on his face. He was so pleasant. But you could tell that he really hurt himself. He was directing traffic and limping at the same time. He would wince as he walked but then remember to smile. I was on the floor laughing, it was so funny. But I guess that I was the only one who thought it was funny because the rest of my family just wasn’t laughing. I’ll tell you that if my daddy had been there he would have been laughing just as loud. I’m sitting here giggling just remembering that, 40 years ago.

There was a group from my high school who sang at the Mass. Daddy loved a guitar Mass so my mom asked Sr. Clara from Sacred Heart and she put together a group to do the music. I was so surprised when they sang “Why Me Lord” by Kris Kristofferson. Daddy loved that song, we all did. And I do remember crying as I was singing along, because it reminded us how blessed we were. Fr. Joe Hayden, Daddy’s best friend, did the eulogy. He talked about Daddy’s faith and his love for his family. Daddy converted to Catholicism and never went to church. Fr. Hayden said that he had never met a man with more faith. I wanted to ask him if he knew that he was talking about my Daddy. But in retrospect, we did know that Daddy had more faith than most people who went to church every day. The last thing I’ll tell you is something I used to do all the time, and I knew that Daddy would think that it was hilarious. I wasn’t really good about putting flowers on Daddy’s grave. Mom would sometimes do that but usually she would go over to the cemetery and clean off his marker. I can remember her talking to him and pulling weeds at the same time. That was typical Mom. I used to always get lost when I went to the cemetery. I knew which section of Cave Hill where Daddy was buried (right down from Colonel Sanders), and I had a pretty good idea of where his grave was, but it got to the point where I would have to walk up and down about 5 rows of graves and finally stumble on Daddy’s. But what I would do was look for a new grave and I would go over and put together a small bouquet of flowers that were still good. I enjoyed doing that so much. I meant no disrespect, I just thought that the person who had just been buried, would not have a problem with sharing all the flowers that they had. Mom hated it when I did that. I didn’t see a problem with it and I knew that Daddy would do nothing but laugh with me. But I quit the practice after Mom died since it used to make her so mad. I had to explain that to Daddy but I’m sure he would have agreed.

When I moved down to Fancy Farm, I came to realize early on that it was important to go to visitations and funerals. It’s a way that Fancy Farm supports our community. I mean, honestly, we do funerals very well. I used to go with Jimmy and not have any idea who the person was who had died but I knew that it was important to do. One of the first funerals I went to was when Neil Hobbs died. I knew the Hobbs family. I loved Bernard and Wilma Hobbs as though they were my parents. So, when their son died I knew it was important to go. I don’t remember going to visitation but I did go to the funeral. I had met Neil a time or two but really didn’t know him. And I didn’t know anything about his family other than his parents. But Neil had died young, about as young as Daddy was when he died. What I didn’t know was that Neil had teenage children, I think 3 daughters and a son. I knew that the funeral was going to be hard but I didn’t have any idea how hard it was going to be. I think from the time the funeral started until it was over I sat there and cried. But I boo-hoo’d when they played Holly Dunn’s “Daddy’s Hands”. That song was pretty popular at that time and every time I heard it I thought about Daddy. But being at this funeral, of this young man, who had a young family, that song tipped me over the edge. In fact, there are times that I think about this funeral and it still brings tears to my eyes. But for the longest time I thought about those kids, knowing how much their life changed with the death of their father. It’s just something you never get over.

Tonight I went to the visitation of one of Jimmy’s cousins. He was 49. He had a son and a daughter who were old enough to have known their dad well, and old enough to realize that their life was changing like they can only imagine. While I was listening to both of them speak, as well as other family members, I kept thinking about this song. I kept thinking about them talking about him being such a hard worker and always had to be doing something. I remember how much my daddy worked and was always doing something. He had so many callouses and lines, and each of those did tell a story. I specifically remember that a lot of times his knuckles would be scraped and I worried about those, I know they looked so much worse than they truly were. They talked about how proud their dad was of them. And I think that’s the best compliment that you can receive. I think back to that man who came up to me at Daddy’s visitation and knew who I was. Lordy, I don’t remember the names of my co-worker’s kids. I mean, if I thought for a minute I would. But this guy wasn’t a co-worker of Daddy. He knew him but it’s not like he was around him all the time but he knew me by name, and face. I’m sure that was the same with these kids. This daddy was all about his kids. One of his nieces got up and talked about how grateful she was to have had him in her life. I think that it’s easy for kids to take their parents for granted: they’re always going to be there. I never thought that Daddy was going to die. Yes, he had been sick for so long but they were going to figure it all out and he would get better and live. When he did die we felt that it was a blessing since he wouldn’t be in any pain anymore. And it was, until the pain of missing him got to be so great. I know that this family will go to pick up the phone to call him, many times. I know that when they catch themselves it will hurt a lot. I know that there’s going to be lots of pain in their future. But they got it right in their comments, too. Even though they had him for such a short time in their lives, they had him fully. He was totally in their lives and loved every minute of it.

I think that they will look back 40 years from now and realize that there was always love in their daddy’s hands.