I don’t think of my dad when I celebrate Father’s Day. He left when I turned four. Although my stepdad, a great man, filled many holes in my life, I don’t center on him, either. The dad I focus on during the holiday is my husband. He became separated from his biological mother at age two and one-half years.
Ray and I parented each other, as strange as that sounds. He served as my main provider and protector during our 47 years of marriage.
When we met and fell in love, part of the attraction was our fulfillment of the missing parent’s role. He gave me steady support both financial and emotional. After our first child was born, Ray made my dreams of being a stay-at-home mom come true and took on the single wage-earner role. He worked hard to provide the family’s income with his lack of higher education. When our teenage kids became sassy, their father demanded their respect for me. Later my devoted husband supported my desire to return to college for a Master’s Degree. It wasn’t until he found his underwear drawer empty that he realized the full impact of his agreement, so he took on a few new tasks.
My contribution to him took the form of motherly skills. During my homemaker days, I supported the family with regular meals cooked from scratch, homegrown fruits and vegetables from our garden and trees, and crocheted gifts or projects to brighten our house. He trusted my fashion sense and loved it when I put out clothes for him to wear. His broken family background caused him to lean on my parental advice when issues came up.
We stood together through job changes, interstate moves, a fire, near bankruptcy, adventures with our children, grandchildren, and my mother’s time with us. Medical issues presented an opportunity for one or the other to give care and comfort for the ailing partner. Ray’s nursing abilities through my cancer, I must admit, exceeded mine.
My earlier motherly skills came into play near the end when I reverted to methods used with younger children. Before a trip could be made to the doctor’s office for Ray, we had to do a checkoff for supplies: keys, wallet, glasses, teeth, oxygen, and walker.
A friend recently confided how her husband’s serious illness might mean the loss of their home, since he can no longer work. They don’t have life insurance, since they can’t afford it. This negative scenario shocked me into the realization of just how much a blessing my husband was to me. Our home is paid for and offers the security, location, and economy I need as a widow. His life insurance gave me a means to cover the funeral expenses, along with some hospital bills, and still left a nest egg besides.
Now that my husband is gone, my current father figure is perfect. God showers me with blessings and ongoing provision and protection. While I keep company with my Lord here on earth, I take comfort in knowing my husband is also at home with Him in Heaven. Happy Father’s Day to the best Father ever and always.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
