Lifted

We are lifted, in the small and big moments of life, by loved ones, strangers, even angels...

My husband lifted our 4 and 2 year old daughters into his arms on October 28th, 2011 after a seven month deployment.
I lifted my newborn girl into my arms for the first time on November 23rd, 2011.
An angel lifted my father to heaven on January 2nd, 2012.

And now, I have finally found the courage to sit in my writing chair and lift my fingers to begin writing this story...

My dad came to visit us in August. He taught my daughters how to play Candyland and Scrabble. He covered them with sand at the beach. He played "Tutti Frutti" (his version of Hide 'n Seek) with my daughters. I sat back, resting for the first time during the deployment, and felt my third daughter kicking inside of me, anxious to join in on the fun.

I imagined my daughters in the years to come, learning from my dad the way I learned from my grandfather.

But in the space of only three months an aggressive cancer took over my dad's body and an angel lifted him up to heaven.

I miss you, Dad.




You were lifted, Dad, up to heaven so shortly after my daughter's spirit was carried down to earth.

Our third daughter entered the world on a high note, literally.

Before the doctors could pull her entire body out, she pitched her first newborn cry and tears flooded my face.

"Tears of joy, right Mama?" my 4 year old daughter asks as I tell the story.

"Yes, Sweetie. Tears of joy."

I counted the days, and then the hours until my baby was old enough to fly to see my father.

He got to meet his fifth granddaughter. He even got to hold her for the first and last time.

My newborn baby girl is magical. One moment she looks like her oldest sister and then in the next moment she morphs into looking like her other sister. She is peaceful. She is gentle. And she is at the beginning of life.

I sat beside my father, holding my newborn girl, watching them both sleep.

They snored.
They had basic needs of food and sleep.
They cried.
They breathed.
They opened their eyes and listened.
They were at the ends of life, rather than in the middle of it like me.
One at the beginning.
One at the end.

Unlike my daughter's introduction to our world in a sterile, cold operating room, my father's departure of our world was in the warmth of his home, surrounded by my mom, my two sisters, my newborn girl and me.

We held his hands.
We touched his arms and legs.
And we wept as his spirit soared out of his body with his final breath and up into heaven.

The birth of my third daughter and the death of my father have altered me in many ways.
My heart expands and overflows with love, and yet it is clinched like a fist in pain and sorrow.
My mind tries to function to meet the needs of my three daughters, and yet it is foggy and spins on memories of the final moments of being with my dad.

My dad.
Who did calculus problems with me on napkins in restaurants.
Who coached my soccer, softball, and basketball teams.
Who took me on a walk when I got my period for the first time and told me how proud he was of the young woman I was becoming.
Who got on the floor and played with my daughters.
Who read to my high spirited daughter until she fell asleep on him.
Who held our hands and told us he loved us and he was ready to go.

I love you, Dad. I like to think you are reading over my shoulder right now as you used to do when I was typing an email and you came in to the room to talk with me.

I love you, Dad. Thank you for the amazing gift you gave me: a life full of love, joy, and endless possibilities.

I love you, Dad.

I believe the angel you saw was with you.
I believe you are with me now.
I believe one day I will see you again.