Daddy's Hands

Daisy Parker Focal Point: Person Daddy’s Hands With tubes hooked to every part of his body, monitors reading every vital sign, and busy nurses in and out the room, I feel completely helpless. All I can do is hold the hands of my precious 85 year old daddy who is fighting hard to hang on to life. For the past three days, his hands have been his way of communicating with us. I want to grab my daddy’s life tight in my grip and never let go. As I stare at his hands, I think of all the lives he’s touched. His innocent hands swung the ax to chop firewood and caught that stupid chicken that flapped her wings and scurried away to keep from being locked in the henhouse. His hands learned to dig potatoes, pick cotton, milk a cow, and shoot a gun. Because he was a superb marksman, he helped his family survive the depression by putting meat on their table. Blisters covered his young hands from the back-breaking hours of gripping the handles of the one-horse plow. Despite the blisters, if he ever got a free minute from working, he was tossing or catching a football. His young hands grew into strong hands that handled a football like it was part of his body as he caught amazing touchdown passes to lead his beloved Furman University to many victories. One bitterly cold Christmas Eve, as our family was gathered around the table for the traditional Christmas dinner, the phone rang. A duck hunter had not returned home. Immediately, Daddy and my two older brothers left to help the rescue squad search for the missing hunter. Hours later the young man was found. To keep from freezing to death, he had buried himself under the thick mud and the leaves. Daddy used his hands to scrape the mud and leaves off the shivering boy and then wrapped him in a dry blanket. Through chattering teeth the young man cried, “Thank you, thank you, for saving my life.” He worked three jobs, but always had the time when I needed him. Little girls panic over the silliest things. I was almost in tears because everyone in my class could tell time but me. "Sit down here on the couch and I’ll teach you,” he said. As I cuddle close to him, I loved the comforting smell of his Old Spice after shave. He takes off his watch and carefully explains every detail of a clock to me. He keeps twisting the hands of his watch until I understand. Within thirty minutes, I’m all smiles because telling time is a cinch for me! (I want to feel this closeness one more time, so I pull his hands up to my cheek.) A Daddy’s pure love is what he shared with me, but there was no one on this earth that he loved more than my mother. Even at 85 years old, my daddy would get that precious grin on his face as he told the story of the day he fell in love with my mother. “It was the summer before my senior year in college and I needed money. These strong hands got me a job sweepin’ floors at a mill in Greenville. One day, as I was cleaning, I happened to look out the window and I saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Then I turned to the man working beside me and told him to shake my hand. I want you to be the first man to congratulate me because I’m getting married! See that gorgeous girl. That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” In his college days, Daddy was known for being pretty handy with the girls, but from the moment he saw his beautiful Vonnie, he only had eyes for her. After graduation, he married my mother (she was only 17). Their marriage had the passion of newlyweds for 54 years! Mother died seven years before daddy, and during these difficult years, his love and devotion to her was just as faithful as it was the first moment he saw her. I feel his hand move, bringing me back to reality, as a new nurse enters the room to check his heart rate. He moves his hand again letting me know he wants to write something. Since he can only communicate through his hands, I give him the pencil and he makes a 7 on the paper. I know what this means. Since he can’t talk because of the tub in his throat, he wants me to tell the nurse his hunting story. Daddy knows it’s hard for me to watch him like this, so to keep it cheerful in the room, he wants me to tell stories for him. I smile at him and nod my head. “This is my wonderful daddy. He’s 85 years old and I want you to know he is still a fantastic hunter. This amazing man can still climb in his deer stand, and he has already killed seven deer this season.” I can see his eyes proudly smiling at me through all the pain. A few days later, with his family and friends gathered around his bed, God takes my daddy’s hand as the two of them walk through the gates of heaven. I’m sure my daddy was one happy man when he saw my mother waiting at heaven’s gate for him!