A Father's Day message to my Dad

Emerald green pea plants poked their tiny heads through the soil in the garden last week in rows as crooked as ever - a tribute of sorts to my Dad who passed away May 22.

Every spring for as long as I can remember, Daddy would make a routine inspection of the gardens that I had planted at whatever location I happened to call home at the time. His comments were as predictable as the sunshine that warmed the earth - "Those are some crooked rows you've got there," always said with a slight shake of the green Pioneer cap that was part of his farmer uniform - overalls with a pencil in the front pocket, flannel shirt and work boots.

Much thought was given to straightening out those crooked rows during this most recent planting of peas, beans, beets and assorted flower seeds. The idea of actually trying to hoe straight rows at first seemed like it would be a good way to memorialize my Dad - the first row, in fact, was intentionally lined up quite methodically with the outside edge of the garden.

A gentle breeze blew across the newly-tilled soil, coming from the south where a pheasant called from the alfalfa field - straight rows from my hands were not what my Dad was looking forward to seeing, the wind seemed to whisper. He enjoyed viewing the crooked rows - just like he was proud of my somewhat off-center life that included lots of twisting curves, but managed to produce in its own fashion a bumper crop of personal fulfillment.

So, I went back down the straight row and redid it the usual manner, completing the process in the rows that followed and in digging holes for the tomato, pepper and squash plants. Drops of rain began to fall as I neared the opposite side of the garden while a small band of geese made an up-close inspection of the finished project, honking their approval before winging their way north to whatever wetland was going to be home for the night.

It would be remiss on my part not to formally acknowledge and thank the many, many friends and individuals who have been so supportive of our family in recent months as my Dad's heart condition progressively worsened. It is quite literally impossible to mention everyone by name - each and every act of kindness is deeply appreciated and will not be forgotten.

Over the years, in talking with numerous other families who have experienced the deaths of loved ones, I have heard expressions of gratitude for the wonderful service rendered by members of the Hospice team. That sentiment is echoed by my family.

We had continuing support from the caring individuals who are involved with Sparrow's Hospice Services, beginning with his discharge April 30 from that hospital's cardiac care unit up to and beyond his passing May 22. It would have been impossible to be seated at his bedside that day - with the birds singing sweetly outside the open bedroom window on a warm spring afternoon - without the aid and support of the Hospice team.

What a tremendous group of people - thank you.

Our family is also deeply appreciative of the love and concern that was freely given by another 'team' of sorts - Fr. Tim and everyone at Most Holy Trinity Parish in Fowler. A special thanks to Donna Schafer who guided us through the process for the funeral Mass, and Rosie VanElls whose gift of music lifted all our spirits.

On the day of his discharge from Sparrow, my Dad had expressed the hope that he might be able to attend Mass once more at his home parish - something he had been unable to do for several months. At the time, we did not think the journey would include all his family members - but, it was appropriate that things transpired as they did. We will always remember the welcoming arms of everyone at Most Holy Trinity - thank you.

We also appreciate the fact that Fr. Tim allowed an 'old' family friend to be part of the Mass. Lynn Henning spent lots of summer evenings years ago with other friends here at the farm on Forest Hill Road in Riley - he understood my Father as only another 'farm kid' can. His homily was a tribute not only to Daddy, but to every other 'lover of the land' who has gone before and will follow later.

Parts of Lynn's message - with its emphasis on faith, family and farming - seem particularly relevant now, nearly a month after my Dad's passing. The cycle of life never stops - one season leads into another; new ground is broken; the promise of a bountiful yield lays within reach.

My Father will always remain close by our side - he is with us in the fields that he cared for so vigilantly, in the land that he loved so dearly. His hat still hangs on the hook by the door, ready for a walk outside to check the weather - see if rain or sunshine is on the horizon.

He is with me, personally, in the revival of a love for life - a sincere appreciation for the promise of each day and the joy that is part of shared experiences with loved ones, new and old. He's looking down with approval on my crooked rows - the jog in the path that my life is taking at this point in time.

Sorrow and joy are intertwined, he reminds me.