Originality by Design: Tribute to my dad ~ by Kristine Raymond

Tribute to my dad ~ by Kristine Raymond

Three days from today marks the eight-year anniversary of my dad's passing. It was sudden in the sense that I didn't see it coming, though he'd battled health issues for years. Still, I'd spoken to him on the phone two days earlier without a clue that it would be the last time I heard his voice. Isn't that how it happens? One moment here; the next, gone?

To say that I was (and still consider myself to be) a Daddy's girl is no exaggeration. I idolized my dad. In my eyes, there was nothing he couldn't do. I inherited from the man his looks, his love of animals, his reverence for the outdoors, and his independent spirit; though, sad to say, not his confidence. If my dad ever doubted himself or any decision he made, he hid those feelings well.

He was a strong man, both in the physical and emotional sense. He was firm; strict with the rules but tender as well, a shoulder to cry on when the world got to be too much for his youngest daughter.

He taught me how to drive, check the oil, and change a flat tire. He also told me never to get behind the wheel without two things - auto insurance and AAA. I still carry both, Dad.

There are multitudes of memories I could share about the man whom I still look up to, but this one sticks out, I guess because Valentine's Day is right around the corner. My parents had a traditional relationship. Dad worked outside the home and provided financially for the family while Mom took care of the home and kids. (I once made the mistake in grade school of telling a teacher that my mother didn't work. Mom set the record straight on that one! 😉)

Anyway, it was she who bought gifts and planned parties and made even the most insignificant of holidays special. (Who else reading this celebrated George Washington's birthday or the last day of school?) She'd always mark the cards "Love, Mom and Dad", because presents received were from both parents, each contributing in their own way, so the year I received a Valentine's basket from my Dad alone stands out in my mind. Oh, I know now that Mom was behind it; that she chose and purchased the Nancy Drew books and chocolate hearts, but at that moment, to be my Daddy's valentine, well...it's a memory I'll cherish forever.

It took several (almost six) years after his death before I could look at a picture of my Dad without bursting into tears, my heart tearing apart the stitches that held that particular wound closed. Logically, I knew he was gone but emotionally I'd yet to accept it, afraid that once I did, I'd forget him. Silly me. How could I ever forget the man who is so much more a part of who I am than mere DNA?

For as long as I can remember, my dad smoked a pipe. When it wasn't clenched between his teeth, smoke wafting from its bowl, the sweet, not unpleasant scent of tobacco filling the room, it was tucked behind his belt, like a lawman's pistol. One of his pipes now sits above my desk, nestled between a box of Kleenex, a bottle of Aloe lotion, and a stack of neon-colored sticky pads. His picture also sits one shelf higher, looking down at me as I type away.

He never got to see me become an author. Back then, I had no idea the Universe would guide me down that particular road, but once it did I knew I wanted Dad to be a part of my journey. The second half of my pen name - Raymond - is my tribute to him. Because, no matter what I do in my life, I'll always be my Daddy's girl.