~A LITTLE RED NURSE'S KIT and a Handful of Nuns~

~LAST YEAR~

An Open Letter To My Father

Dear Daddy...

I have so much to say...but, where does the heart of this 'middle girl' of yours begin? I have a lifetime of memories of you and yet today, your 80th birthday, they seem totally unwilling to emerge from the safety of their hiding place. To make sure I never lose them I've tucked them away, far from the savagery of the beast who has taken up residency in your mind. That monster has taken enough from me....taken enough from all of us.

You were 28 years old when I was born and from as far back as my mind can travel you were there for me. During the wee hours this morning I tried my best to recall my earliest memory of you, and even though I was a bit afraid I'd get it wrong, I figured in the end it wouldn't matter. You've been there for me since the beginning of my life. That is the one constant that has never changed.

I was only four years old when I first heard the sound of your familiar footsteps walking down the long corridor of L.A.'s Queen of the Valley Hospital. You were coming to visit your very, very sick daughter. By your account, I was trying desperately to fight off an issue of blood that had invaded my fragile body. My face, as you told it, was whiter than the cotton sheeting stretched across the mattress of my child-sized crib. Every evening when you clocked out from work you'd come spend time with me. How I longed to see your smile and hear the comfort that came from your deep, soothing voice. It's sweetness lulled me to sleep on many of those fright-filled nights. You promised me you would come and you did.

~BETTER DAYS~ 

You told me stories and stayed close by my side when the nurses strolled in wearing those funny shaped hats while pushing silvery carts piled high with cotton, needles and shiny glass vials. I counted on your gentle presence to remind me I was never alone and to not be afraid. You'd fluff my pillow and bathe my brow with soft, cool cloths. You covered me with warm blankets and combed my mousy brown hair. You'd pat my tiny hand and say what you'd always say~ "Daddy is here Becky Sue! Daddy is here!"

You were very good at bribing me and promised to bring me my own nurse's bag if I tried my best to get well. One Sunday morning (I know it was a Sunday because you were in a suit and tie) you brought to me a little red medical bag, complete with plastic syringe and stethoscope (and tiny candy pills that I wasn't allowed to eat). It was your gift to me, a present to encourage me to grow stronger. I practiced my 'nursing skills' on you and gave you lots and lots of pretend shots...

I think it might have been around that time you started referring to me as "Your (My) Becky", but I can't be for certain. But, I like to think so.

I remember the day when you and Mom got the news I was well enough to go home. The Catholic Nuns (always prayerful, reverent and kind) danced around the sides of my bed, arms outstretched to the heavens, singing "It's a Miracle! It's a Miracle!" And it was. God had found favor and showed His mercy and healed me.

No doubt because of your earnest, consistent prayers.

Today it will be me that will walk down the long corridor of the nursing center, the place you now call home. I promised you I would come and I've kept my word. I will fluff your pillow and bathe your aging brow with a soft, cool cloth. I will cover you with blankets and comb your ever thinning hair. I will bring my guitar and sing to you sweet little songs from my childhood... I will pat your hand and say "Becky Sue is here, Daddy! Becky Sue is here!"

What I wouldn't give for a little red nurse's kit and a couple of those faithful Catholic Nuns! Maybe combined with the earnest, consistent prayers you taught me to pray, God might again find favor, show His mercy...and heal you.

For today, this will be all I ask of the Most High.

Happy Birthday, beloved Father of mine. You are my hero.

Your Adoring Daughter, Becky Sue