The room darkened as the cold winter sun settled to the west, hiding behind a big bank of snow clouds.  It seems like it was just yesterday rather than over twenty years ago now that I sat with my daddy for the very last time, holding his hand and talking softly off and on into the wee morning hours.

His doctor had called me a few days before, letting me know that Daddy didn’t have long left to live.  I’d caught a flight from Atlanta to Little Rock the next day, after celebrating our twentieth anniversary with my husband the evening of the call.  Getting to the hospital, I had no idea how long I would be there, nor even what to expect.  You see, at that point in my life I’d never been with someone who was near death.

Mama had fallen asleep on the little cot in the far corner of the room.  She was worn out with tending to Daddy round the clock, day after day for months now.  The quiet room seemed almost a haven as the machines whirred, doing their job of monitoring; and the medicines kept daddy fairly calm, and helped him to rest a bit.

Glancing out of the window, I saw giant snowflakes beginning to fall, reflected by the streetlights on the parking lot below.  Missing my husband and children with an intensity that nearly took my breath away, yet, I was glad to the very depths of my being that I could be there with my parents at this pivotal time in all our lives.

Reflecting quietly, I remembered how proud Daddy had been seventeen years before when my son was born.  He’d held that tiny little fella in his strong work worn hands and smiled the biggest old smile, as he counted Joey’s fingers and toes.  There was an instant bond between my Daddy and Joe; one that has lasted a lifetime I believe.

I then remembered when I’d first introduced him to my sweet little girl who this night was thirteen, going on twenty.  She’d been just a little less than a week old when Daddy brought Mama up to Union, Missouri to stay with us for a while.  He’d almost been afraid to hold Amanda, all dressed in her girlie pink and white.

“Naw, sis, I don’t want to get her pretty little outfit all dirtied up,” he’d growled.

Laughing, I handed Amanda off to him, and told him that the outfit would wash up just fine, and besides, his hands weren’t dirty, they were just stained from the years of working on his job.  He held her carefully and rocked her gently in his arms as he crooned to her a lullaby from days gone by.

He loved both of my kids.  Over the years, Daddy never failed to find little ways to let them know how special they were to him in those times when we came home to visit.

My mind wandered back to those early years of my and Jim’s marriage and how he and Daddy had a bit of a time getting adjusted to each other.  Daddy wasn’t quite convinced that he approved of Jim and it was for sure he rarely understood him.  However, as the years passed, they formed a mutual respect, and a grudging appreciation for one another.  In the end, Jim was humbled to be asked to speak at Daddy’s funeral.  He gave him a beautiful farewell service.

Now, as I think back on the twenty years plus between that night and now, I miss my Daddy more than I can explain.  Time dulls the pain, and the grief mellows with the years, but the aching in the heart never quite goes away.

You see, Daddy went on to be with Jesus that next morning.  That last night spent with him is one that I will cherish forever; at least until I see him again in glory.