This story needs a little context. Today is Thanksgiving Day, 2023. It was just a few minutes past noon when I called Daddy. I knew he'd answer and I knew he knew my weekend was busy. I'd traveled to Charleston with my hubby, mom and stepdad to visit my in-laws. Mom has been diagnosed with a terminal disease and isn't expected to live past April 2024. Daddy knows this and Daddy could have come with us to Charleston but he said it seemed like it was already overwhelming enough for me so he opted to stay home and "out of the way." Really what he was doing was giving my in-laws their space and chance to say goodbye to mom. Daddy and I chatted for about 15 minutes and just before hanging up I said "Daddy, check your inbox." I'd sent him a link to this story which I share here, for all to see.
When Your Daddy Holds Your Hand
By Katie H.
I was fuming when I blurted out, "Oh my gosh, Mom! Why does Daddy have to be so stubborn?!?!"
Mom chuckled. "Your dad is the least stubborn person I know. If he digs his heels in, it's either because he senses passive-aggressive behavior, which he has ZERO tolerance for, OR he hasn't figured out his path forward, and until he does, no one's going to lead him somewhere that's not right for him."
"So, Mom, what do I do?"
Mom: "I don't know what the issue is, but I've never found a conversation your dad wouldn't have. As long as you're respectful and willing to share as much as you ask him to share, he's all in."
"I'll also add, if you're arguing with him, when he reaches out and holds your hand, be warned, you're about to experience love in a way you've never known."
That conversation happened just before I graduated from the University of Georgia in 2014. I instantly thought back to the many times Daddy had taken my hand. His affirming touch and loving words always gave me strength. And, in the years since that conversation, Daddy has never failed to deliver on Mom's promise.
On Monday, September 5th, 2022, we were driving to Vanderbilt Medical Center in Nashville. Daddy has been undergoing chemo and radiation for a serious form of colon cancer. It was our seventh trip, and I was freaking out. It looked like the cancer had spread and wouldn't be curable.
As usual, Daddy drove on the way there, and I drove back. Sometimes we'd chat nonstop, and other times we'd ride in silence. Today was a mix. We'd chat for a while, and then there'd be long stretches of quiet. We both knew the news might not be good. Daddy was far more prepared to die than I was to let him go, and that made things worse for me.
It was just after 6:30 a.m., and we were approaching Cookeville, TN, which was the halfway point where Daddy and I often stopped for a coffee refill. Normally I would have been watching the road, but, this time, I was distracted and silently reminiscing about all the roadtrips we'd taken and, honestly, making sure I had those treasured memories stored deeply in my heart, so the abrupt slowing of the car startled me.
I looked ahead, and a car was stalled in the right lane, and a young couple with two small kids were standing on the shoulder of the interstate. I asked Daddy what he was doing, and he said, "This will only take a minute."
Flashers on, car in park, and Daddy is out the door in a rush. I started to get out, but Daddy told me to stay in the car with my seatbelt on. As I surveyed the scene, I noticed the young woman had a "baby bump," and I thought of the son I'd lost in a car wreck 10 months earlier and I caught myself subconsciously rubbing my belly. I thought of the weeks spent in the hospital and all the times I woke up to find Daddy sitting by my hospital bed holding my hand.
A semi-truck whizzed by, its horn blaring, and that's when I refocused on Daddy. He was helping the young man push their car out of the lane and onto the shoulder. Daddy had given his cell phone to the young woman and instructed her to call 9-1-1. I was getting madder by the minute! Who doesn't have a cell phone in this day and age? Do these people not realize we're on our way to find out whether or not my Daddy is going to live or die? Seriously! WTF!
Daddy and the young guy got the car pushed to the side of the road, and I heard Daddy ask the girl if she had gotten through to 9-1-1, she said she had, and they were on their way. A moment later, a flashing blue light pulled in behind us, and a Tennessee State Trooper got out of his car and walked past me to help Daddy and the couple. I watched as Daddy stuck out his hand to greet the trooper and made introductions. For such a tough guy, Daddy could be so completely polite and kind.
Eventually, the Trooper grasped the problem and radioed for a HERO unit; the couple had run out of gas. Daddy offered to stay with the "kids," but the Trooper assured Daddy that he'd stay until they were safely on their way. My blood was boiling! What did Daddy mean by "he'd stay?" Did he not understand we were going to get a life-or-death diagnosis and we were already going to be late? ARGHhhhhhh!
I decided to call Daddy's doctor and let him know we were going to be late. The receptionist answered and was a bit shocked to hear that "Mr. Punctual" was going to be late, but upon hearing why, she just laughed and assured me it would be no problem.
Finally, Daddy walked back to the car. As he slid into the driver's seat, he glanced at me and flashed that mischievous grin he always sported after pulling off a prank. Normally, I'd crack up at his antics, but this time, his lighthearted demeanor only fueled my anger.
As we merged back onto Interstate 40, I unleashed a torrent of pent-up emotions; a fear of losing my daddy that I carried deep inside, the anger of being late, basically everything that had been simmering within me. My voice echoed through the car as I vented my fury, each word laced with exasperation and resentment. Daddy, always the embodiment of patience, absorbed my tirade without a single interruption. Whenever I paused to catch my breath, he'd simply nod in acknowledgment, his gaze towards me steady and unwavering.
When I finally ran out of steam, an uncomfortable silence settled over the car. That's when Daddy reached for his phone, turned on his bluetooth and paired it with my car. I was ready to explode! How dare he turn on music! This wasn’t party time! Daddy then said "Siri, play The Dance by Garth Brooks" and Daddy looked at me and winked.
A moment later, the familiar strains of Garth Brooks' "The Dance" filled the car, Daddy's voice harmonizing with the melody. As the song progressed, something unexpected happened. Daddy's gaze met mine, and in his eyes, I saw a depth of understanding that pierced through my anger and touched my very core. Daddy understood my fear as he knew the pain of losing his own father.
It was then he took my hand in his and I heard my mother's voice echo in my head, "when your Daddy holds your hand, be warned, you're getting ready to experience love in a way you've never known."
And as Daddy's hand enveloped mine, I felt a surge of love so profound, so all-consuming, that it transcended the fear and uncertainty that had been gripping me. It was as if, through his touch, he was conveying the essence of his life, the tapestry of experiences that had shaped him into the man I knew and loved.
I saw the man who routinely rescued drowning bees from the pool. I saw the man who, on a crowded sidewalk, had patiently coaxed a struggling June bug trapped on its back onto his sandal, helping it regain its life and freedom. I saw the man who, even on the brink of a life-altering diagnosis, chose to extend compassion to strangers in need.
These acts, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of life, were the steps in Daddy's dance, each one imbued with his unwavering love. And in that moment, I understood that the love he had for me was not defined by grand gestures or empty promises, but by the times he was always there when I needed him, by the countless small acts of kindness and compassion that formed the foundation of his being.
As the song reached its crescendo, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The anger that had consumed me dissipated, replaced by a profound appreciation for the man who had always been my rock, my anchor in the storms of life. I realized that Daddy's love was not about shielding me from pain, but about teaching me to embrace my dance, with all its joys and sorrows, triumphs and tribulations.
And as we continued our journey to Vanderbilt Medical Center, I held Daddy's hand tightly, my heart overflowing with gratitude for the man who had taught me how to live life and the true meaning of love.
This morning I had to help Mom cut her breakfast. Normally I would have been heartbroken but, instead, I found myself full of love and gratitude. I could hide from the inevitable pain coming my way but that would mean I’d also be hiding from and miss all the remaining wonderful moments. Suddenly I found myself humming along to Garth Brooks "I could miss the pain but I would have to miss the dance."
So, on this Thanksgiving day, knowing this is the last Thanksgiving my Mom will be alive, I am most thankful for Daddy teaching me to embrace my dance and meet it head-on with all the love I can muster.
Note: For years, I have called my stepdad "Dad" and my birth dad "Daddy." It allows me to honor them both but not confuse my friends and family about who I'm referring to.
Epilogue: Mom passed on Saturday, December 30th at 2:05a. Dad was by Mom's side as she passed and Daddy was the first one he called (they are the dearest of friends). The funeral was on January 6th at 1p. Daddy sat next to me on my right and Dad sat next to me on my left. I will never forget their love and support of me and how Daddy supported his friend, my Dad.