This day on the calendar holds bitter-sweet memories for me because it was my father’s birthday. Had he lived so long, he would be ninety-five today! Instead, he surrendered his life to heart disease at a mere sixty-three years old. I loved him dearly! Still do. Memories of him invade my thoughts often, sometimes bringing a smile, other times, a few tears.
He was such a gentle man. He had twinkling brown eyes, black hair and olive skin beautiful enough to make any woman envious. I loved his hands; they were soft. Except for a few years in the coal mines, the work he did was easy – mostly done at a desk.
My dad was the happiest man I ever knew. I used to wake up in the morning to the sound of his singing in the kitchen as he brewed his coffee. He usually sang favorite old hymns like Precious Memories and Lily of the Valley. Sometimes when I'm alone – if I close my eyes and concentrate – I can still hear him singing these words, “He’s the Lily of the Valley, the Bright and Morning Star, He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul...”