For some odd reason, after feeding Bri, I couldn't sleep. I found myself trying to remember the way my dad walked before the car accident. I could remember plenty of things, but not that. I remember the way his bullet proof vest and police uniform felt under my legs when I was on his shoulders at a parade or the art car show. I remember that same cologne he still wears to this day. I remember painting his nails and being daddy's little girl. But why didn't I ever think to pay attention to something as simple and personal as his walk.
Now I remember the gait akin to a penguin. Lopsided and labored, yet a constant reminder of the life he almost lost. A walking miracle.
After those few tough years of recovery he could walk, even run. I have fond memories of playing "cripple can't catch me", but cripple could corner you. Trying to recall the years before I turned ten I came across many wonderful memories.
I remember the first birthday I got roses like mom. Mom always got roses on our birthdays because she labored us. I remember the gun shows we would spend all day wandering through. I remember the few failed family home evenings that left the good readers in our family, Ryan and me, frustrated with the whole thing. I remember him holding me while I cried over a silly boy or two.
Most of all I remember the love that abounded in my home. I realize I'm so blessed to have such pleasant memories. Even if I wasn't raised by perfect people, a thought I rarely entertain.
I know mother's day just came up, so blogging about my dad seems a little out of place. But my mom is my best friend, she knows how important she is because I tell her almost every time we talk. My dad may feel he's just the one who passes the phone to mom. We talked this morning for about an hour. I could tell I don't talk to him enough because I'm in such a rush to tell mom something not important. I know as frustrating as his concept of punctual is I should strive to be more like him. Easy going, always making time to help others, and never giving up on life.
I only hope I can raise my daughter in a home as joyful and full of love as mine was.
-Heather Rand.
