My father was not a sentimental man.

I don’t remember him ever ohhing or ahhing over something I made as a
child.  Don’t get me wrong, I knew that my Dad loved me, but getting
all mushy-eyed was not his thing.  I learned that he showed me he loved
me in other ways.

There was one particular moment when this became real to me.....

I always believed that my parents had a good marriage, but just before I,
the youngest of four children, turned 16, my belief was sorely tested.

My father who used to share in the chores around the house, gradually
started becoming despondent.  From the time he came home from his job
at the factory, to the time he went to bed, he hardly spoke a word to my
Mom or us kids.  The strain on my Mom and Dad’s relationship was very
evident. However, I was not prepared for the day that Mom sat my siblings
and me down and told us that Dad had decided to leave.

All that I could think of was that I was going to become a product of a
divorced family.  It was something I never thought possible and it grieved
me greatly.  I kept telling myself that it wasn't going to happen, and I
went totally numb when I knew my Dad was really leaving.  The night
before he left I stayed up in my room for a long time.  I prayed and I
cried -- and I wrote a long letter to my Dad.  I told him how much I
loved him and how much I would miss him.  I told him that I was praying
for him and wanted him to know that, no matter what, Jesus and I loved
him.  I told him that I would always and forever be his Krissie.... his
Noodles.

As I folded my note I stuck in a picture of me with a saying I had always
heard. “Anyone can be a father but it takes someone special to be called
a Daddy.”

Early, the next morning as my Dad left our house, I snuck out to the car
and slipped my letter into one of his bags.

Two weeks went by with hardly a word from my father.

Then, one afternoon, I came home from school to find my Mom sitting
at the dining room table waiting to talk to me.  I could see in her eyes
that she had been crying.  She told me that Dad had been there and that
they had had a very long talk.  They decided that there were things that
the both of them could, and would change -- and that their marriage was
worth saving.

Mom then turned her focus to my eyes.  “Kristi, Dad told me that you
wrote him a letter.  Can I ask what you wrote to him?”

I found it hard to share with my Mom what I wrote from my heart to my
Dad.  I mumbled a few words and shrugged.  My mom replied, “Well, Dad
said that when he read your letter, it made him cry.  It meant a lot to
him and I have hardly ever seen your Dad cry.  After he read your letter,
he called to ask if he could come over to talk.  Whatever you said really
made a difference to your Dad.”

A few days later, my Dad was back.  This time to stay.  We never talked
about the letter, my Dad and I.  I guess I always figured that it was
something that was a secret between us.

My parents went on to be married a total of 36 years before my Dad’s
early death, at the age of 53, cut short their lives together.  In the last
16 years of my parents’ marriage, I and all those who knew my Mom and
Dad, witnessed one of the truly “great” marriages.  Their love grew
stronger every day and my heart swelled with pride as I saw them grow
closer together.

When Mom and Dad received the news from the doctor that his heart was
deteriorating rapidly, they took it hand in hand, side by side, all the way.

After Dad’s death we had the most unpleasant task of going through his
things.  I have never liked this task and opted to run errands so I did not
have to be there while most of the things were divided and boxed up.  When
I got back from my errands, my brother said, “Kristi, Mom said to give this
to you.  She said you would know what it meant.”

As I looked down into his outstretched hand it was then that I knew the
impact of my letter that day so long ago.  In my brother’s hand was my
picture that I gave my Dad that day.  My unsentimental Dad, who never
let his emotions get the best of him.  My Dad, who almost never outwardly
showed his love for me, had kept the one thing that meant so much to him
and me.

I sat down and the tears began to flow.  Tears that I thought had dried up
from the grief of his death, but that had now found new life as I realized
what I meant to him.  Mom told me that Dad kept both the picture and that
letter his whole life.

I have a box in my home that I call the “Dad” box.  In it are so many things
that remind me of my Dad.  I pull that picture out every once in a while and
remember.  I remember a promise that was made many years ago between
a young man and his bride on their wedding day.  And I remember the
unspoken promise that was made between a father and his daughter...

A promise kept.

             -- Kristi Powers    

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