Step it Up, Hallmark

So it’s Father’s Day Eve, and to be fair, here’s the obligatory post about my thoughts on Father’s Day.

That is, if I can even find words. Hallmark couldn’t, so I’m not even sure why I’m trying.

Here’s what I mean: I DARE you to find a card or gift or act or ANYTHING that can somehow portray your feelings about your father who survived a disease that’s mortality rate is something like 20% of those diagnosed; survived a 10-hour surgery that also brings something like a 15% chance of death along with it; has fought through several set-backs that brought us all to our knees and halted our worlds to pray he could dig for strength again to make it through; and most astonishingly of all, did all of the above with a smile, no mention of “giving up,” and a quiet but epic faith that I have personally never witnessed. Because I bet you can’t. I know my little gift certainly doesn’t do justice to what MY DAD deserves. No gift does. No card says how much I admire and love┬áhim, how glad I am he’s HERE with us to celebrate again. I would like to think I’ve shown him these things by doing the best I could for him, but even that falls far too short. He’s an amazing hero, a true living miracle, and I couldn’t more thankful that he’s MY DAD.

I gave him an embellished version of this poem several years ago for his birthday after he had survived 17 days in the ICU and then a subsequent brain bleed (and we thought the worst was over!) and even though it doesn’t do justice for who he is, it’s my feeble attempt. At least I tried, Hallmark.

My Hero is the quiet type,
No marching bands, no media hype,
But through my eyes it’s plain to see,
A hero, God has sent to me.

With gentle strength and quiet pride,
All self concern is set aside,
To reach out to our fellow man,
And be there with a helping hand.

Heroes are a rarity,
With all they give and all they do,
I’ll bet the thing you never knew,
My quiet hero has always been you