~MY FAVORITE DADDY~

 ~VALENTINE POEMS by MY FATHER~

When I first started my blog in 2009 I wrote about a

visit to my father 

on Valentine's Day of that year.  I never dreamed then that three years later he would still be with us.  I count it a privilege that for the most part my father still knows who I am.  Dementia in any form, albeit Alzheimer's or any of the other mind-robbing diseases out there, can be nothing less than devastating to a family.  It's a long, long, sad good-bye and speaking personally here, if I'm not careful with my emotions the brain monster that lives inside my father's head has the potential to steal away more than just my father's memories...

~MY BEAUTIFUL FATHER~

Preacher Man and Poet

SPRING 2003

Yesterday morning as I walked down the corridor that led to my father's tiny room I stopped for a moment to look at some of the red and pink hearts that lined the walls.  Instantly I was taken back to the days of my childhood when each year my then tiny fingers would fashion a homemade Valentine for the man I've always called daddy.  On the 14th of February I would cut a huge pink heart out of construction paper and inside would carefully trace around my right hand.  Across my palm I would write this simple sentiment....

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

To: My Favorite Daddy

From: With Love,

Becky Sue (age 6, 7, 8, etc.)

 ~TATTERED HEARTS~

Not too long ago I came across one of my handmade Valentines and I believe it's the only one that still exists.  Thanks to my mother's foresight it was tucked away years ago for safe keeping.  My father, ever the sentimentalist, inscribed in his own handwriting onto the backside of my tiny paper heart the following words:

"This Valentine was given to me by my little daughter,

Becky Sue, February 14, 1968.

One day she will find out I am

not just her favorite daddy, but I'm 

HER ONLY DADDY!"

~~*~~

You were right, daddy!

You will always be my

ONE and ONLY

(forever and forever)

FAVORITE DADDY!

~~*~~

(Gosh~how I miss him...)

~~*~~

Happy Valentine's Day to you all.

Love to you...

~~~~~THOUGHTS ON A SUNDAY MORNING~~~~~ If You Are Willing

I took some time out of my day yesterday to visit once again with my ailing father.  Many of you know he's been living in a nursing home for the past nine years or so...a truly wretched place I know he will never leave.  I've said it before, but at least for me it bears repeating.

The mercy of Alzheimer's is that those afflicted don't remember what all they've forgotten...

I thank God for this one simple fact.

My father hated not being able to find his glasses.

He would surely hate not remembering my name.

I found myself whispering this prayer...

"Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering." (Luke 22:42)

Blessings to you today as you remember everyone you meet is dealing with some kind of struggle...

Love to you...

~LOVE IS ENOUGH~

~WEDDING DAY MEMORIES~

My AGPMan's Parent's Wedding Day 1952

It was a hot July day in the summer of 1977 when I first met the man who would eventually become my father-in-law. Back then my Mr. AGPMan's dad had yet to reach the age of 50 and was still living a very full life with the sweetie of his youth... 

 ~WEDDING DAY MEMORIES~

With Mr. AGPMan's Parents - 1978

I couldn't possibly have known it then, but I would one day grow to dearly love the man my Mr. AGPMan has lovingly called "Pop".  And, for as long as I live I will always remember what he said to me when I met him for the first time.  I was only 18 years old and hopelessly "in love" with their second child, their then 21 year old son, Steven. 

 ~PRECIOUS MEMORIES~

My Beloved with His Parents - 1978

"Well, Becky!

(insert big hug here)

We've heard so much about Steve's 'big city girl'!  How in the world did he ever catch the likes of you!???  Huh?

(insert another big, long squeeze here)

Now...sit down and tell me all about yourself!  We are so excited to have a real live GIRL in our lives!" 

~THE DAY I MET STEVE'S PARENTS~

Summer 1977

Through God's grace we've somehow managed to stay together all these years.

Last Monday I stood back in the shadows as my hubby and his older brother assisted their mother as she placed their once strong minded, able-bodied father into long-term nursing home care.  Just like my own father, my Mr. AGPMan's dad has fallen prey to Alzheimer's.  Of the three major stages of the disease we believe Steve's dad is in the later part of stage two...  

This decision was a long time coming...

And one very difficult for his mother to make.

~STEVE and HIS FATHER~

Summer 2003

I snapped a lot of pictures over this past weekend.  Most are too private to share publicly and hard for even me to view at present.  Maybe one day I will feel differently.  We are all taking one day at a time and trusting God for His continued mercies and unfailing love to carry us through...

~ME and MY MOMMA-IN-LOVE~
(Miss Mollie, too!)
Spring 2011

For now the photo below sums up all I was thinking and feeling last Monday~  I was in awe of my beloved and the love and care in which he showed his mother.  His daddy would be soooo proud of him...

~A PRICELESS EMBRACE~

Mr. AGPMan and His Momma

Spring 2011

"Train up a child in the way he should go,
      And when he is old he will not depart from it." 

(Proverbs 22:6 NKJ)

Just seeing this picture reminds me once again of WHY I'm still married to this amazing man!  He has a heart for God and for those around him...  I'm soo incredibly blessed.

~~*~~

It's good to be home again.  Thank you for all your emails and comments.  I'm overwhelmed by your love and support.  Thank you again so very much!

I will return sometime tomorrow with the winning name of my latest GIVEAWAY!  Stay tuned...another one will come at the end of the week.

Blessings and love to each of you...

~WHEN THE TIME COMES~

 ~MY FATHER~

1955/1956

“God will help you deal with whatever hard

things come up when the time comes.” 

Matthew 6:34

(The Message)

It’s been over eight years since my father was moved into a nursing home to live out the remainder of his days.  Since that early spring evening in 2003 I’ve watched him decline and change both mentally and physically into someone I barely recognize.  His once vibrant mind has faded while his strong, capable hands have grown fragile and weak.

~BEAUTIFUL and YOUNG~

1955/56

His cocky good looks, neatly trimmed mustache and Cheshire Cat grin can now only be seen in pictures.  It’s common place for me to keep them close at hand.   They remain a gentle reminder of the man I use to know.

 ~NOVEMBER 23, 1955~

WEDDING DAY

Truthfully, just hearing the word “Alzheimer’s” is overwhelming.  I hate it.  I want to curse it.  Yell, scream and stomp and kick my feet at it every single day.  I want to throw a tantrum and flail my arms and shake my fist at it.  I want to act like a bully and beat it up.

Tear it limb from limb.

I want to bloody up this faceless, callous ogre.

I want to kill and destroy the heinous thief that came in the cool of the night and robbed my family and I of what we hold so dear...

 ~A LOVELY BRIDE~

1955

 And then, just as my humanity is about to get the best of me and I fear I've left the presence of the Most High, I catch sight of my Mother as she shares a fleeting moment in time with my Father.  She is long past the point of questioning or displaying negative emotion.  I dally in the shadows to watch for a bit as she sits lovingly beside the man of her dreams, the very person who continues to be the keeper of her heart.

 ~MY PARENTS 1963~

With a clear view of her selfless abandon, I look from a distance as she tends to the needs of the husband of her youth.  I breathe in their most private of moments and watch quietly as she performs, with steely determination, the care she’s become best known for.  Decidedly she moves closer to her aging beau, content to be fully present in their journey of silence.  She has loved this man in sickness and in health for more than a half a century and I know from experience she won’t waste a moment of time uttering words in bitterness or anger over a disease she has somehow managed to accept. 

 

~MY MOTHER TODAY~

Through misty, watery eyes I choke back what are now familiar tears.  I watch as she lifts her right hand, gently stroking my father’s silvery white hair before carefully tucking the bed covers up under his chin.  Night has fallen and she must leave him once again. She gently kisses his check while whispering something I’m quite sure only his heart could hear…

~MOMMA and ME~

1959

From an adjoining room I listen as my Mother gathers her belongings and makes her way down the long corridor that will eventually lead her back home.
She will never know of my presence on this night...
Never know I was watching from a distance
the truest of loves play out...
Never know how I long to be more like her...

Beautiful Mother I have.

Beautiful, beautiful Mother.

~~*~~

Love to you as you honor the women in your life who've helped mold and make you into the person you are today…

~REMEMBER ME~

~MY FATHER~

Around the age of 8

My father, William Edgar, was born in Conroe, Texas, in  early March of 1930.  He was the fourth of five children, the second son of three.  Like many children birthed during the great depression he did not have an easy life.  His family was extremely poor and his own father was, by my grandmother's account, a very hostile, angry man.  He died before my father celebrated his 16th birthday.

I believe the photo you see above is the only one in existence of my dad as a young boy.  The original is not much bigger than a postage stamp and when I enlarged it I was surprised to see tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose.  How this photo has survived for so many years I will never know.

To avoid being teased and taunted for not owning a pair of shoes, my father quit school in the eighth grade.  After a severe shoulder injury at the young age of fifteen ended his dream of becoming a boxer,  he lied about his age and went out to sea working on a small tugboat.  At seventeen he enlisted in the Navy.

My dad loved the ocean and for his entire life talked of it with profound longing and deep affection.

When just a young man he believed God was calling him into full time Ministry and began to make plans to become a Servant of the Word. He would go on to become the only child in his family to attend, and then graduate from, college.

~ NAVY CHAPEL SERVICE~

1955-1956

My father pastored several churches during my childhood and made only a meager living doing what he felt called to do.  He organized and conducted more religious services for shut-ins, nursing homes and convalescent centers than I can count and routinely ministered to the downtrodden in the skid-row missions of Los Angeles.  He did this because he loved sharing God's word.  He was never paid a single cent for his services.  My dad was a lover of great poetry, a huge fan of country and western music, and although he couldn't carry much of a tune, he loved more than anything listening to each of his four children sing.

~PASTOR OF THE WORD~

How I Remember My Dad

1976

It is important for me to tell you that I did not always understand or appreciate my father's ministry until I was well into adulthood.  With a firm, deep voice, he remained a strict, but loving, disciplinarian and I eventually grew to love and respect his unwavering faith in the Most High. I'm so grateful today he taught me about a healing, loving, merciful, forgiving Jesus.

Several years ago our family began to notice a steady decline in my father's mental health.  Once an avid thinker and writer, we began to see changes that eventually led to a diagnosis of Dementia.  Little by little the disease has chipped away at the father I've known and loved for many, many years. Seeing him in a weakened physical state and his brain in a fog of mental confusion is sometimes more than I can take. 

I miss our deep conversations.

I miss his advice and encouragement.

I miss his hand upon my shoulder...

and the stories of his youth.

I miss hearing his earnest prayers...

and his impassioned preaching.

I miss him telling me that everything would be alright...

and then

believing him.

~CHRISTMAS 2009~

"Remember Me"
(Mark Schultz)

Remember Me
In a Bible cracked and faded by the years.
Remember Me
In a sanctuary filled with silent prayer

And age to age
And heart to heart,
Bound by grace and peace.
Child of wonder,
Child of God,
I've remembered you,
Remember Me.

Remember Me
When the color of the sunset fills the sky
Remember Me
When you pray and tears of joy fall from your eyes.

And age to age
And heart to heart,
Bound by grace and peace.
Child of wonder
Child of God,
I've remembered you,
Remember Me

Remember Me
When the children leave their Sunday school with smiles
Remember Me
When they're old enough to teach,
Old enough to preach
Old enough to leave.

And age to age
And heart to heart
Bound by grace and peace
Child of wonder,
Child of God,
I've remembered you,
Remember Me.

Age to age
And heart to heart
Child of wonder
Child of God
Remember Me.

~*~

"I remember, Daddy.  Thank you.  Bless you.  Miss you.  I love you.

Happy Father's Day...Becky Sue"

(Listen to the lyrics above on the first song on my PlayList today)

Blessings to you as you remember the things your father did right....

 

~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

~TRUST Rebecca...Just Trust!~

There are times in my life when I've come to a crossroad of sorts and have struggled with choosing which path in front of me was the best one to take.

Do I go right?

Left?

Does it even matter?

Ever face the complexity of just being fearful of being fearful? Ever been so afraid of turning the wrong way that your energy becomes stifled and you're only able to sit and stare at the wall for hours on end?

Yesterday I struggled with such an issue even though I had literally tons to do. I have found it is in times like this that I miss the wise counsel of my father most. More often than not he would welcome me into his 'office' and would then say this:

"Tell me about it, Becky Sue! What's troubling you, honey? Tell Dad about it!"

And..as I would usually do, I would begin to spill out from within me a very long list of all that seemed to be 'wrong' in my life. All my fears. All my hesitations. All my mistakes...

Being the kind and loving father my dad has always tried to be, it was during one especially memorable visit that he handed me a tattered piece of paper with the following poem penned on one side.

"I found this little poem and saved it back for you!" he said

"You can ALWAYS trust God with your dreams...." he continued...

~BROKEN TOYS~

As children bring their broken toys,
With tears for us to mend;
I brought my broken dreams to God
Because He was my friend.
But then instead of leaving Him in peace to work alone,
I hung around and tried to help, with ways that were my own.
At last I snatched them back and cried
"How could you be so slow?"
"My child," He said, "What could I do?
You never did let go..."

Author Unknown

While searching for an important paper today, to my surprise I came across the poem once again.

And so, through the quiet early dawn hours of a regular Thursday morning, I again heard my father's loving heart speak to me from beyond the thundering sounds silence...

"Trust...just trust!"

Blessings to you as you cast your cares upon Him...Rebecca

~YOU'RE STILL YOU - One Tiny Memory at a Time~

WHILE IN HIGH SCHOOL - 1975-1976

Yesterday as I sat next to my aging Father and tried desperately to carry on a conversation with him I felt my face grow hot and my heart start to panic. In all the times I’ve visited him over the years, from the very beginning of his Alzheimer’s/Dementia diagnosis and his Nursing Home INCARCERATION, he’s never ever not known me.

He's not known other people, but never NOT ME.

I want my Dad to get well. That is what I’ve been asking from God, and anything less has been unacceptable. I’ve prayed for such a long time for healing to come and for the TORMENTOR that has invaded his mind to find a new home. Still, the intruder has stayed on. This un-welcomed visitor has now taken up permanent residency inside my Father’s brain and he refuses to go.

“This isn’t LIVING!!” I thought to myself.

“I HATE THIS!! He would HATE THIS!!!”

Truthfully I wanted to curse. I really did. But…there isn’t a vile enough word in the English language that can describe how it feels to stand along the sidelines and watch helplessly as a once vibrant mind turns into nothing more than a blank stare.

After almost an hour of soft smiles and sporadic conversation, I grabbed my purse and bent down to kiss the forehead of my restless Father.

“I miss you sooooo much, Daddy…and I love you!” I said. “I’ll be back soon!”

“I love you, too!" he added.

As I moved towards the door his voice continued…

“You know...you remind me of my little daughter, Becky Sue!”

And for that tiny moment, that memory was enough.

Blessings to you as God reveals His never-ending mercy…Rebecca

~POEMS, PRAYERS AND PROMISES~ and the Good Stuff in Life...

~A GIFT FROM MY FATHER~

Call me crazy or unbalanced, disorganized or unfocused... But a few months ago when I couldn't find the hand written poetry book given to me by my father, I became totally panicked and afraid. I looked high and low for the deep blue and gold-trimmed journal only to face disappointment after each unsuccessful search came to an end. I feared it was lost forever. When my Mr. AGPMan found it safely stored on a shelf in our guest room, I felt my heart could finally rest. What once had been lost now had been found..

~HAND PRINTED WITH LOVE~

I cannot say for certain when it first was my father presented me with the final version of the book that holds some of his best writings. He began poetry books for all of his children, but I was relentless when it came to him completing mine. I would routinely return it to him on occasion so he could transfer into it his most recently penned poems, prayers and promises...

The last entry my father made in my book was in the late 1980's. It is now full...well, almost full anyway. There are a few empty pages towards the back that he intentionally left blank as he had planned to include a few more "special entries" for when my children graduated college, left home, married, had babies...

~MY FATHER AT 35 (1965)

Sadly, my father fell ill with what my sister Jenny continually calls a 'monster in his brain' and those very special writings would remain un-penned forever... This makes me all the more grateful for the amazing insight he had when he was well. The book holds more than 300 separate writings...

~TRULY TREASURED - DEEPLY LOVED~

The poem above, called "The Only Wealth", was written for my siblings and I in 1979...it is very special to me~

~A SPECIAL POEM FOR MY BROTHER~

In 1963 my Father wrote a poem he called "Kindergarten Scholar" for my brother. Bill was just a baby at the time and my Dad was so happy to finally have a son after two little girls...(little did he know another girl was to follow)~ Even though this poem was not written for me, it remains my favorite of all of his writings. I proudly share it with you below...

~MY FATHER AT 73~ (2003)~
Reading From My Book

KINDERGARTEN SCHOLAR
by: William E. Elliott
10/18/65

I
Infant, infant, shining face
Will you take your destined place
With the small or with the great,
Men of valor, who create?

II
Infant, infant, little one,
You who sleep when day is done~
Rest you well, this carefree night,
The day to come shall bring new light!

III
Kneeling down, I kiss your cheek
Who tomorrow, starts to seek~
Hidden wealth in knowledge land
Secrets too, in grains of sand!

IV
Tucking covers, under chin~
This my flesh and blood and kin...
(Fading shade of summer tan!)
Child tonight, tomorrow- a man!

~MY FAVORITE PICTURE OF MY DAD~

My father began the painstaking task of writing out in long-hand my keepsake book back in 1978. He was the age then that I am today. He could never have known how precious to me his words would one day become or how much more I would grow to love him over the next thirty years...

Today I will be visiting him in the nursing home...the place he now calls home. I'm taking this beloved book with me and I'm going to read to him for a spell.

I'll share with him some of the poems he wrote in 1963, and '65, '71 and '84.

And then I'll turn to the back of the book, to the pages that once were empty, and I'll read aloud to him the poems I've written and carried on in his name...

Thank you, Daddy. For everything!

Blessings to you as you honor, in deed or memory, the ones who gave you life...Rebecca

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!

My Father and I - March 2009 (79 years old)

Tomorrow my father will celebrate 79 years of living on this planet and more than ever I’m grateful he is still with me.

Life hasn’t been easy for the man I still call “daddy”. I use to spend a lot of time concentrating on his many imperfections… but, now that he is ill I try not to waste a second speaking of things that are impossible for me to change. Instead, I choose to celebrate the things he did that were right and pray for my heart to lead me as I work out the details of everything else.

My Father and I - October 1976 (46 years old)

My father was a dreamer. He once longed to be a Professional Boxer until a devastating injury changed the course of his life when he was just fifteen. He was forced to leave school after only the eighth grade and yet went on to be the only one of his siblings to attend and then graduate college. He was a Pastor and a Poet and will forever be the keeper of my mother’s heart. I’ve doubted and questioned many things during my lifetime but never, ever the love my father had for me and my three siblings…

So…

In honor of the one who… raised me and called me daughter, encouraged me, believed in me, prayed over me, spanked my naughty bum, kissed my undeserving check, held my ever growing hand, combed my mousy brown hair, calmed my fears, wiped away my tears, and led me to believe in a healing, forgiving, merciful, loving God… I wish A BLESSED BIRTHDAY… I will love you forever! Thank you, thank you, thank you for loving me, too.... Becky Sue

Blessings to you as you travel this earth with those you love…Rebecca

CHERRY CHOCOLATE VALENTINES

~HAPPY TIMES 2006~

When I was a little child my father always bought me chocolates for Valentine’s Day. Not the expensive stuff…on a part-time preacher’s salary (which was truly close to NOTHIN’) he couldn’t afford much. Still, every year he managed to give me and my three siblings something special.  I looked forward to my father's tiny-sized offerings of love... generally a four piece box of Whitman's Chocolates accompanied with a Valentine of my very own.

As I got older I easily grew accustomed to his meager gifts and as the years passed I even took them for granted. A lot for granted.
 And, then one day, they just stopped coming.
I’m not sure exactly when it was…probably 2002…maybe 2003…maybe it was 2001...

It’s hard to remember something you try on purpose to forget…

My father has what my family calls “A MONSTER IN HIS BRAIN”. He has a devastating form of Alzheimer’s (gosh…is there ANY OTHER KIND?) that has slowly and methodically stolen away his memories. And sadly, I am all too aware that if this mind-robbing demon remains unchallenged, unchanged, it will contribute to the ending of his life…

I visited with my father today at the Nursing Home where he lives…a well-meaning facility that cares for the aging and the afflicted. I know he will never leave this place. Today I found myself grateful he doesn’t understand all that has been taken from him…
all that has been ripped from his life.

It's the one mercy of the disease, I suppose.

We sat quietly for a few minutes when my father must have sensed my growing sadness. He gently patted the back of my hand and then softly said something I hadn’t heard him say in several years…

“Daddy is here, Becky Sue. Daddy is here!”

It was then I pulled out from it’s hiding place a tiny box of Cherry Chocolates and a little heart shaped Valentine and placed them in my father’s aging hands.

Suddenly it didn’t matter if he remembered the past.

I did.

And for today that was enough…

"For the Lord comforts His people and will have compassion on His afflicted ones."   Isaiah 49:13

Blessings to you as you remember those you love and those who love you…

Rebecca