He celebrates my happiness
Makes me smile when I'm sad;
His love is unconditional
I'm so proud to call him, "Dad."
Growing up I recall
All his wisdom and advice;
Which today guides and leads me,
Far more than once or twice.
It's comforting for me to know
To my Dad I can turn;
Whenever problems may arise,
And I discover there's more to learn.
There is no man who walks this earth
Who is greater than my Dad;
There is no daughter that exists,
Who's more grateful, proud, and glad.
To him I am his sunshine,
To me he is a king;
He built me a castle out of love;
He's my Dad, my everything.
Happy Father's Day With All My Love, "Sunshine."
Written for my dad this past Father’s Day
Dad's response:
Hi 'Sunshine'.....
Thanks for the lovely poem - it sure makes my day!!
Yes,you are my sunshine,
My moonlight and my star,
You're the poundings in my heartbeat...
So many great things you are.
LOVE - DAD
My Dad was in the cardiac unit of Fawcett Memorial hospital in Pt. Charlotte, Florida. He'd been in there since April 29, 2009 when my Mom walked out of their bedroom at the retirement center they live at and found him passed out on the floor. He was 89 and my mom was 86. She had to ring for a nurse because she was frightened and not sure what to do. My dad was soon rushed to the hospital emergency room where it was discovered he had pneumonia. My mother was by his side from early in the morning until past 3 PM when the diagnosis came in. She called me later that evening when she knew I was home from work. Frantic and frightened, I told her I'd be there first thing the next morning (I live a two hour drive away.) The next two and a half months brought Dad a pacemaker, a chest tube, 15 days in ICU, two weeks in a rehab facility, and then back to the hospital after his lungs had collapsed. With every visit I made, every weekend, my dad would make jokes, keep my mother's spirits high, and tell US stories that made US laugh. He is truly a hero in every sense of the word and he had just celebrated his 89th birthday on May 25th. My parents anniversary was on May 26th. I know most children believe their parents to be special and/or heroes, but mine have a history of a love that IS special and honorable and has made me the loving and caring woman I am today. I am inspired by their love and especially by the courage I saw my Dad display right up to July 12, 2009, when God took his hand from mine and placed it in His own. The day my dad died was also my mother’s 87th birthday. We were there beside him. Following is a brief tribute to both of them:
I spent the better part of last night reading through love letters dating back to 1938 written by my parents. My mom was 16; my dad was 18. Two young people who found one another through writing.
My mom had written an article about war, and it was printed in The Milwaukee Journal on July 16, 1938. My dad, who lived in Arkansas, had gone for a Sunday walk and bought a Denver Post. There, while paging through the paper, he came across a page that had photos of young girls and the articles they wrote on the topic of war.
Both my parents have told me their story of "how they met" many times, and I never tire from hearing it. My dad, after staring at the picture of my mother for a while, took the paper and showed it to his mother saying, "You see this girl? I'm going to marry her one day."
My grandmother told him, "Son, you better stay indoors for a bit. I think you've gotten far too much sun."
My dad, with paper in hand, wrote to my mother. She received countless letters from readers but only responded to one - my dad's. And so began their courtship. What was to follow was eight years of writing to one another and falling in love through their words from their hearts.
Soon after the first letter was written and mailed, my dad was off to war. Mom graduated from high school (she went to her prom with her brother, wanting to stay true to a new love she hadn't even met) and, after graduation, she was off to Milwaukee State Teacher's College.
The letters spoke of dreams and desires, lifetime aspirations, and news from both their worlds. The letters my mom received from my dad from Australia, New Guinea, and other parts of the world, were all censored by the Army.
It was truly an eye opening experience to read and discover this most private part of my parents' lives. To see and witness how they fell in love, to read about their fears and to envision my mother, as a young teen girl, wondering whether or not she would ever meet this young man. She spoke about her life in Milwaukee, her long hours of helping her parents in their family-owned grocery and butcher shop.
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