I come from a southern family! 5 generations of my mom’s side were born and raised in and around the Atlanta area. Can you say “Dawlin?” My poor dad didn’t stand a change living anywhere else. According to my maternal grandmother, his loyalties were already in question having been born in the state of Virginia.
Loving sales and travel, his address was in Georgia, but his job was in New York. There was no way my momma was ever raising her 4 girls above the Mason Dixon Line… so he commuted. Flying out every Monday morning, he worked all week “up north” and came home on the weekends. An only child, my mechanical-engineering, car-fanatic dad became more and more lost in how to relate to the female dominated, estrogen-induced household he’d produced. Once home, we’d usually just see his feet sticking out from beneath one of our cars!
He was always an excellent provider, but sharing words wasn’t a strong point. I remember him occasionally taking me on dates and trying so hard to think of things to talk about. We always knew he loved us, mom told us so repeatedly and he wrote it on cards, but every child wants to hear these words directly, repeatedly. I don’t think you ever out-grow this need or become too old to receive a verbal blessing from a parent.
Now, my father’s dementia causes him to repeat himself. It has also broken down verbal reserves he held when younger. One of my favorite things about caring for him is the many times he says, “I love you,” “thank you for helping me,” “I appreciate you coming,” and “I’m glad you’re here.” He can say these over and over while I’m with him and I’ll never tire of listening. I feel in many ways God has given me an incredible treasure in the midst of a difficult decease and He knew I needed to have it repeated. This is my blessing. (Don’t wait to give your’s) -Anna
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