Last night Maurice Moss was my doula.
Frightening and awesome all at once...
A few days ago it was a swim with the dolphins, something I have always always wanted to do. It really felt like I was there. In those first moments of waking I reached up to touch my hair, expecting to find it damp and tangled from the sea.
Then last week a dream that was actually a memory from my childhood.
Beginning with the sight of department store carpeting, littered with a few T tags and bits of string. Then a button, small and pearly.
I look at my hand as I reach out to grab this small treasure. And its not a grown up hand that looks just like my Abuelas, but a child’s hand. The faint outline of baby dimples still gracing my knuckles. A scratch from a tree branch just below my thumb. I wear that scar today. But in this dream it fresh and raw and pink. I glance to the right and see a pair of familiar shoes.
They belong to my Dad.
I look up and find his young face looking down at me.
I realize that we are shopping together. Just him and I.
Men’s Department, roaming the dress shirt aisles side by side looking for work shirts. He is talking to me and I am smiling. I can feel the muscles in my face stretching and they are almost sore from the continuous joy of just being with him.
If you know me, you know I am a Daddy’s girl.
It was never a conscious choice you see. I just always have been and always will be….ridiculously proud that he belongs to me and that I belong to him.
It didn’t matter where he was going or what he was doing. I just wanted to be near him and spend time with him. Driving to the dump to deliver trash? Count me in. Going for a long walk on the beach? Take me with you. Seasoning a freshly butchered pig for Noche Buena? I’ll spend the whole day with you. Fishing for barracudas? Please oh please let me tag along too.
No matter how hard he worked—which was a tremendous amount—he always made time for me.
I never doubted, not for a single minute, that his family was first in his heart.
Which is in all likelihood why this dream was cast in such a warm golden glow.
I have no trouble recalling the way his voice sounded at the age of 29. It springs up automatically. I remember the way his beard looked, the shape of his haircut, the way he would sweep my mom up in his arms and kiss her, his laughter, his habits….the very Dad essence of him.
We head for the tie section, my favorite part. He starts telling me about the case he is working on and the people he will be meeting.
I am the expert on ties, you understand.
No one can pick them like I do.
I always pick the right one.
And his chances of winning a case are always higher when I have selected the tie.
At least that is what he would tell me.
I start rummaging and make my selection.
“Perfect,” he says.
And I am awash in that feeling of pride again. He is my Dad and he loves the tie that I found.
I wake up groggy from this dream. Very pregnant and very tired and very very busy with my boys. Their Dad has all ready left for work, hours before they are awake. They know this, but they still ask repeatedly, “Where is Dad? Is he coming back yet? Is it dinner time yet?”
“He is at river work” I remind them.
“Oh yeah…..(sigh)…Mom, isn’t Dad awesome?”
“Yes he is” I agree.
They munch on their waffles in a silence thick with thought. They are remembering their weekend adventures with Dad. All the glorious time he spent with them. All the wrestling, tickle fights, lego building and book reading. The constant hugs and the constant love.
I know the feel of what they are feeling.
I have worn it like a mantle over my heart for years. Experiencing your father’s love becomes etched into the very core of who you are. I see the indentations marking their hearts every day.
Dad loves me.
Dad is proud of me.
Dad values me.
Dad cares what I think.
Dad protects me.
Dad teaches me.
Dad learns from me.
Dad laughs with me.
Dad likes me.
Dad is here.
I am beginning each day dwelling on something that I am thankful for. One blessing that deeply enriches my life. Something to mull over as I am preparing to birth my fourth son, as I pray for his life and for his walk with the Lord.
This was the first one I thought, automatically coming up from the very core of who I am.
“Thank you Lord for being my heavenly Father, for loving me beyond any love I could possibly fathom. Thank you for giving me to my earthly Father, who rooted me in his love and who never caused me to doubt it. Thank you for joining me to my husband. His deep love for me and my sons a constant reflection of your love.”
Now the petition comes in. This new prayer of the last four years that is always on my lips...
“Lord, help my sons to walk in your ways. Give them a heart like your own. Help them to reflect your love daily. Enable us in training them to be men of God—strong leaders, husbands and fathers. Fill them with your Spirit."
How very grateful I am that one of the richest blessings in my sons lives is not where they live or how they live or what they get to do….but that they are surrounded by great examples of fatherly love. Their Lord, their father and both of their grandfathers. Thank you Lord for all these Dads.
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