"Linda's Lightline"

Linda's Lightline
By Linda Woodward
Freelance Writer

April 2007

THIS ONE'S FOR DADDY --- AND YOU

"Maybe, that smile --- that hand --- that hug --- that little gift ---- will mean the world to someone." Sometimes my own words can speak to me louder than anything else can. That first sentence was in my last column. That sentence came to life in a profound way in the weeks that followed.

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow;

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain;

I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there, I did not die.

"I know all of that in my heart -- He is with God and there is no better place to be -- He is in my heart forever and nothing can take from that---- as much faith and as much wisdom as I have accumulated---- right now, I am just a girl who misses her Daddy, a Daddy she loved so much."

I lost a huge part of my heart when my Dad died a few weeks ago. All I am going to do is tell you a part of the story--- those of you reading, will know a part --------those of you that know me will know a bigger part--------but I know, because God told me, that any part that I share, will tell a story, a story that needs telling.

People have told me I have a tender heart. I got that from him. Gentleness. Gentleness of heart. He reminded me of Leigha. He reminded me of me. A sweet gentle soul in a world where that was unfathomable. In a world where that was un-safe---- in a world where that needed protection.

The part of his story that I want to share is the ending of his story. Not to say that the rest of his story didn't bear repeating: His life. Some of it bears repeating because a smile can be found. Some of it bears repeating because a lesson can be learned. Some of it bears repeating because a life can be changed---------but that story, the life changing story, will wait to be told one to one. For now, I speak only of the story of the lesson to be learned. Which also will change lives: The lesson of his death.

The irony that Easter is upon us, does not escape me. You too, will recognize it in the story. It started in the hospital. A man, a man who happens to be my daddy, fighting to survive at under 90 pounds.

I believe that love is a "giving" thing. If you have read any of what I have written-- if you know any of what I have spoken -- you know, I believe that love is a "giving" thing.

"You can give without loving, but you can not love, without giving."

I practice what I speak. Otherwise I would not speak it. Words are merely words without heart behind them.

"Maybe, that smile --- that hug --- that hand --- that little gift ---- will mean the world to someone."

When someone is dipping under 90 pounds, it is obvious what you give out of love. You give love---- in the form of human sustenance. You give food.

In the hospital-- in the rehab facility -- he was given food. Lots of food. I brought the smiles. Smiles in the form of milkshakes, cookies, cake, chocolate pretzels, candy..anything and everything that would put weight on his bones -- he had no physical problem that discouraged this, I made sure of this.

"Sometimes a smile can mean the world to someone." I brought the smiles.

He smiled when he ate them. The weight---- followed. He gained 6 pounds his first week in rehab. 20 pounds all together.

"Sometimes -- it is a hug--- sent from God, through your arms -- that can warm the coldest night. "

"Maybe, that smile --- that hug --- that hand --- that little gift ---- will mean the world to someone."

Another thing I got from him -- I'm always cold. Yes, I live in a tropical climate, but I am always cold.

I believe that love is a "giving" thing. If you have read any of what I have written-- if you know any of what I have spoken -- you know, I believe that love is a "giving" thing.

He was cold. I brought him warm clothes -- and blankets -- lots and lots of blankets. When they weren't enough I layered him up in physical warmth--------and then I hugged him. Until he stopped shaking. Until he stopped shaking".

"Maybe, that smile --- that hug --- that hand --- that little gift ---- will mean the world to someone."

He did stop shaking…he also stopped eating. All the "smiles" and all the "hugs" soon, to me, seemed to be not enough. Smiles and hugs --love as a "giving" thing, ceased to be enough. It didn't really cease to be enough -- it just ceased to help right now-- and believe me, Linda was at a loss.

I was left looking at this man that I loved with all of my heart-- and knowing in that same heart that all that I had to give -- all the love -- all the smiles-- all the hugs --all the love that I could put into human practice-- suddenly-- didn't seem enough.

What Linda had to give was not enough. That's not saying that what Linda had to give wasn't great -- it's just saying that Linda finally came to the realization that what Linda had to give was human-- and what my dad needed now--------wasn't.

The last two visits I had with my dad are forever etched in my heart -- they bring me tears, they bring me hope --- they are forever and ever indelibly marked in my heart--no one can change them -- no one can take them away. No one------------can speak louder than these memories can. Because God was there. Me. My Dad. And God.

"Maybe, that smile --- that hug --- that hand --- that little gift ---- will mean the world to someone."

A hand. In the end, all I had to humanly give my dad was my hand. He was so weak and yet if I tried to take my hand out of his hand--------his strength was great. He held on with everything he had - and more. More than fit his physical form--- I guess you would call that a strength greater than his.

And in the quiet of holding his hand he would just speak over and over again, a dazed look upon his face, and in a voice that to me embodied a small child-- he would say "Please -- dear God-- help me." Over and over and over and over. While I held his hand.

"Please - dear God -- help me." In a childlike little boy voice. He sounded so scared. So lost and so helpless and to say it broke my heart can never ever tell of what it did to me.

And as I held his hand I said to him, "Daddy, you don't have to call to God-- He's right here. He is right here with you. He's right here."

With that, the tears flowed down my face. He then spoke directly to me. Something so utterly profound it took me totally off guard. In response to my saying "God is here.." , he said to me, "How can you say that......and cry?"

I held his hand and said without hesitation, "I know God is here. Without question, I know -- God is here---it's just---------really hard------to watch you suffer."

With that, I knew that my last gift to him would not be my hand. My smile. Or even my hug. My last gift to him was the answer to his last request----"Please dear God -- help me." And I stroked his hand--- and I stroked his hair -- and I said "Daddy, just try and go to sleep......and as he closed his eyes and the tears flowed down my cheeks, I looked to the heavens -- and said, "Please answer his prayer ----Please--dear God--- help him." and I knew that when all that Linda had to give wasn't enough-----------I gave my daddy God.

And no greater gift -------------------was ever given.

John 3:16
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.