Turning the Hearts of the Children to their Fathers

{{Pics of me and my dad when I was little-

I'm eating chocolate in that middle one}}

I had to write about this-at least a little bit. It's very personal, but so important to me-so I want to write it somewhere. We went to the temple yesterday for our date night. We have made a goal to go once a month every month this year, and we have done it thus far. The blessings have been so great, I know that we are doing something right. Last night was especially special for me. Chad was able to do my fathers work for him. This is going to be a pretty long post-sorry about that!

About a month ago, I had this very strong feeling that his work needed to be done right away. I had rarely felt something as strong. I set to work on finding out how to prepare his name and get it temple ready. When we went through last night-it was such a, I don't even know how to explain how good it felt to be doing this for him, something he wasn't able to do for himself while he was alive. I felt my dad, the dad I remember there and it made me very happy. My most vivid memories of my father when I was young was when we would talk about religion. I remember so many nights just bawling my eyes out that he wasn't able to quit smoking and do the things he was supposed to be doing, in order to take my family to the temple. I hated not being sealed together. He sometimes would cry too, telling me how hard he was trying, and how much he wanted us to be sealed. He believed in the church, he knew the gospel-he loved his family.

I had a very big falling out with my dad later on, when I was a teenager and my parents got divorced. There were some actions and behaviors that my father did, that hurt me and others in a very real way. I forgave him then, and just decided it would be better if we parted ways. Then he got really sick. He had cancer and a big tumor was on his brain, the doctors said that it had probably been there for a very long time, and could have made him act in ways that he wouldn't normally have. It was then that I knew why he acted that way all those years. I remember my father when I was little, being very kind, very loving and a good man. He had his temper and a few bad habits, but he was a good man. I think it was sometime after I got married, he didn't come, that I felt I had lost that man. It sounds awful, but he was dead to me then.

I found out he was sick on Fathers Day, 2004. His parents thought that he had been on drugs and was coming off them, he was acting very strange-slurring his words and shaking-they took him to the hospital and they found the tumor and it had to be removed immediately. I hadn't talked to him in years. I had had Bekah by then and I don't even know if he knew. I went to the hospital and saw all of his family so concerned and crying, not knowing if he would make it out of surgery or not. I felt sad for them, not for myself-it was a very strange feeling-to know that they were all crying for my father and I was crying for them-for his mother and father-my grandparents, and for all of his brothers-my beloved uncles who had become more a part of my life than my own dad. He made it out of surgery that day and we were able to see him the next night. Chad had never even met him until then, and I hadn't seen him in a very long time. He looked so different-He was 6'6" and weighed less than 100 pounds, he had always had long hair-but now he was bald-because of the surgery, he had bandages wrapped around his head, his eyes were hollow, but his smile was the same. He smiled when we came in, I wasn't sure how he was going to react. I brought Bekah-and introduced him to his granddaughter-I put her on his lap, he wasn't able to do much, being so drugged, up. He touched her hair a little and said hi. That's all he could say. Tears just streamed down his face. He said hello to Chad and then he told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too, because I did and I felt it so much, and then we left. That was the last time I saw him.

He was terminal, and they didn't know how much longer he had. I didn't want to remember him dying-I wanted to remember his smile on his face when he saw me, I wanted to remember the look on his face when he held Bekah. I wanted to hear his voice say "I love you" one more time, the way he said it on those nights so very long ago when we would talk at night-when he would choke on his words a little, trying to keep the tears back. I wanted to remember the good. I wasn't strong enough to be there and hold his hand everyday, I just felt so helpless. He was in a nursing home in Provo for the last few months of his life. My sister Toshya, took him back and forth between radiation appointments and was in the room when he passed. She was there, I am so grateful that he didn't die alone. He died in January of 2005. I went to the funeral of the man who died so very long ago in my life, but had just left the rest of the world then. It was a wonderful service, my sister gave a beautiful eulogy of his life and I was able to hear then about his last days on earth. I couldn't look at the body in the casket-it wasn't him-it wasn't how I remembered him.

Last night-as I sat in the temple remembering the nights my dad had said that he wanted to go to the temple-I remembered his face as he looked at me, with such sorrow that he wasn't able to give me what I wanted most. I remembered the love that he had for me and my family. I remember being daddy's little girl-I remembered my dad.

I love you dad, and am so glad you are in a happier place and someday when we meet again, I'll bring the chocolate!