Thanks Dad




	WRITE 2 THE HEART Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart" June 17, 2004 Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator @ write2theheart.com. Welcome to your latest issue of "Write 2 the Heart." All new subscribers will receive a free downloadable copy of the e- cookbook, "Write 2 the Heart of the Chocolate Lover." To join, send an e-mail with subscribe written in the subject line to: subscribe-me @ write2theheart.com. Do you have a heart-touching or inspiring story to share? Send it in the body of a plain email, no graphic or colorful back- grounds please. Write 'submission' in the subject line. Don't forget to write a brief bio to introduce yourself to our readers. You may include your family friendly websites, information on your books, newsletters, and upcoming projects. Email your submission to: moderator @ write2theheart.com. We always love to hear stories from new, first time writers. Beginning in July, there will be a new writer’s appreciation gift. I will be sending pens to our writers, and what writer can’t use a handy pen to jot down those inspired ideas? There will be a limit of three per person. Get your stories in early and when I schedule them, I will mail all three at once! Janet always longed for acceptance and a close relationship with her father. His sudden death crushed those dreams. While going through her treasured mementos she discovered that she always had it. Thanks, Dad, Thanks By Janet Seever My father grew up as an only child of second-generation German immigrants, a rigid upbringing. In his early twenties, he married his high school sweetheart from a neighboring farm. I was the first of five children. Dad expected his children to excel at school and whatever else they did. As the oldest, I worked hard to meet his expectations. In this era, fathers did not hug or kiss their children. Praise was sparse because it might go to their heads and make them proud. I remember a few occasions when we did things together. Dad would carefully mark rows in the garden early each spring when the ground was still cold and damp. My brother and I would follow him as he planted the first long rows of peas. I also remember planting spruce seedlings with him as part of a conservation project. A few times I fished with Dad and my younger brother in Dad's old wooden boat. When the lake was high, huge sunfish hid around the roots of up-ended willow trees. How I longed for Dad to say, I love you and give me a hug, but it never happened. Did he approve of me? It was difficult to tell in my teenage years. I grew up, graduated from the university, and eventually married. Unfortunately, my husband and I often lived hundreds of miles away from my family, and at times our work took us overseas. Mom wrote weekly, telling of events back home, what my dad was doing, and news of my siblings. But Dad never wrote. He left that up to Mom. When we came home to the farm, our visits were cordial, but Dad and I were never close like some fathers and daughters. In 1986, it was time to say good-bye for another of our overseas assignments. My husband, two children and I, stood with Mom and Dad, our arms around each other. My husband prayed for God to watch over all us while we were apart. Afterward, I hugged Dad and said, “I love you.” It was still awkward. "I love you too," he said and I noticed him brushing a tear from his eyes. How I wished we had been closer over the years. My parents were in their early sixties, so I expected to have many more times together in the future. We'd be back from our work in Australia in four years. Then two and a half years later, a life-shattering call came from home. That Sunday afternoon, Dad had been snowmobiling around the edge of the farm property, visiting neighbors. When he failed to return home, my brother-in-law searched for him and found him in the snow, dead of a massive heart attack. Friends urged me to go home to Minnesota for the funeral. "You're not doing this for your father," they said. "You're doing this for you." How true it proved to be. At the funeral, people had wonderful stories of Dad, a man of integrity with a quiet faith. Their stories were fresh; recent. They knew him so well. Even my youngest brother, twenty years younger than I, had related to Dad in a different way from me, as a friend. Dad, how I wish I had really known you! I screamed inwardly. It was like a song without an ending, a book with the last pages torn out. I grieved, for Dad and the close relationship that would never be. Then, three years after his death, my mother died as well. After the funeral, all of us five adult children came back to the farm and sifted through the treasures we had left behind in the attic of the family farmhouse. I was going through a box of my memorabilia when I came across a small canvas bag. Inside the bag were drawings I had done, old letters, and photos. In the midst, I discovered two letters from my dad written years back when I was finishing university, the only personal thing I had in his handwriting. How could I have forgotten that they existed? I carefully pulled out the yellowing paper. The first one was about things on the farm. The second was about an honor society I had been elected to at the university. When I read the first paragraph of the second letter, my eyes welled with tears, for he had written, How proud I am to have a daughter like you. . . Thanks, Dad. Thanks. Janet Seever jseever1 @ shaw.ca The mother of two adult children, Janet Seever lives with her husband in Calgary, Alberta, where she writes for Word Alive magazine. She has had a variety of articles and short stories published in magazines and on Internet. You can find more of Janet's writing at www.inscribe.org/janetseever and reach her at jseever1 @ shaw.ca You are encouraged to write to the authors to let them know what you think of their story. Have a comment on today's story? Send it to: moderator @ write2theheart.com. Write 2 the Heart now has an affiliate program with Cognigen. They have several long distance plans to chose from; I personally use the PowerNet Global 4.5¢ Per Minute Plan. I love having my own toll free number for my family to be able to call home when they are out of town. I have used it more times than I care to remember over the last three years in emergency situations. Cognigen has more than just great long distance rates; they have calling cards, internet access, web hosting services and much more. You can check out all of their telecommunication products and services at http://ld.net/?cbspeir. Looking for an affiliate program? You will be surprised at all the products and services you will have access to. Letters From Our Readers This was good. To the rescue. Little else comes close to feeling that good. B Cheryl, I loved the story about your husband and the green peas. My husband of over forty years did that to me with spaghetti not to long ago. Through the years I haven't fixed it very often because I didn't think he liked it that well. Lo and behold after I fixed up a big batch for the grandchildren he thought that was one of the best meals he had eaten in a long time. Oh, well....we live and learn... even at my age... Melva www.melvacooper.com I really enjoyed Pamela Jenkins story about the old man who brought the tiny kitten to her veterinary clinic. It was well written, building suspense and empathy as it developed. The detail of the recovery, the sweetness of the small guest, and the naming (along with that pesky inner voice) were all delightful to read. Mary-Ellen Grisham meginrose @ charter.net www.eternal-ink.com Military Prayer Reminder As you read over this list of names, please take a moment to pray for these young people and their families: Chris Speir Tim Speir Alan Todd Holland Graham William Julie Sagel Jessie Marshal Thompson Jason Eric Hernandez Kristin Danielson Ken Prieur Ryan Larry Miele Daniel Amy John Joanne Gary Boardwine Josh Hadassah Chanz Wackerly Please continue to pray for our country, our leaders, and our troops at this time. If you have loved ones in the military, or who are being called to go overseas, send their names (first and last or first only) to be included in our prayer reminder. Cheryl’s Corner Does anyone have a cat that hates flea treatments as much as mine? Even though I use the once a month drops, it takes three days to treat him. Now Fat Cat knows that it helps him and comes to me and meows like he is giving me a reminder when it is time each month. But as soon as I reach for the drops his ears perk up. When I take the tube out of the package he runs and hides. We spend the next two days with me trying to sneak up on him and he trying to avoid me. When I finally corner him, he pouts under the bed like a kid who lost at a game he thought he would win. Why can’t he be more like our dog? Selah just rolls over and smiles. Maybe it is a game for the cat and attention for the dog. God bless you, Cheryl . Copyright © 2004, Write 2 the Heart Nothing may be reproduced or published without the written permission of the individual author or copyright owner. All rights belong to the authors.