Musings of a Daddy’s Girl
Posted on 17. Feb, 2009 by Karen in Family and Friends
Yesterday would have been my dad’s 89th birthday and I’ve been thinking about him a lot over the last week. Dad died 6 years ago. I guess I thought that there’s a beginning and end to the grieving process but there really isn’t.
Missing my dad seem so fresh sometimes, especially when I look at pictures of his hundreds of freckles, incredible smile and endearing gap between his front teeth. Of course that was only the outer Dad — the inner man was truly remarkable.
He grew up during the Depression in abject poverty. But the stories he used to tell us of those times were never about despair. Because my dad mastered the power of positive thinking before it was “fashionable”.
He had a bone infection when he was 12 that put him in a convalescent home for a year. That didn’t stop Dad because he recovered, kept up with his studies and graduated with honors from high school. After similar success in college (as the first in his family to ever strive for higher education), Dad got a full scholarship to medical school but couldn’t go because they only allowed 2 Blacks in a class. Unfazed by that roadblock, he got his master’s and taught at the university level until a Black “slot” opened up.
Dad had continued academic success but hit another barrier when the bone infection in his leg recurred during his senior year in med school. With a coveted internship waiting and his dream of being a doctor in his line of sight, Dad told the doctors to amputate. They did and he went on to graduate with honors — again.
Funny thing about my father is that he never discussed his disability. Of course we knew he had a prosthetic leg but it was never talked about as we were growing up. For Dad, it was a non-issue and something he never let stand in the way of creating the life he truly wanted.
54 years later after a successful practice and a devotion to community health issues, Dad’s colleagues hosted a retirement party for him. When they looked up his med school record, they learned that he had actually graduated top of his class — a fact suppressed by the then dean who had just come on board from Alabama.
I’m proud to say that I was part of Dad’s life as the oldest of his 3 children. He was always the wind beneath my wings — my hero, my mentor, my advisor and friend. He was the person who could make me laugh until I cried and the person who always challenged me to dream and believe that my dreams could be my reality. And I — well I was always Daddy’s girl. Still am.
In Memory of Thomas M. Batchelor, M.D.
1920 — 2002
xxxooo
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8 Responses to “Musings of a Daddy’s Girl”
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Marianna Paulson
17. Feb, 2009
You are blessed to have such a remarkable dad.
Both my parents died too young and one of the things I came across that gave me a great deal of solace was: They are always with you, in your heart, in the way the way you (and your siblings do things). Just because you don’t physically see a body, doesn’t mean they’re not present.
Rockin Rod
18. Feb, 2009
What a wonderful post!!! I see where you got so much of your guiding spirit and kind intelligence.
When my father passed on 19years ago I cried every day for a month. I was at a point in my life where I was really “lost in the woods,” driving between the small town in northern Kentucky where we lived then, into Cincinnati looking for work. It was a perfect time to grieve his passing and think about how much he had always meant to me, what an example he had been in my life. I can tell you that eventually the immediate pain of loss does recede and, in my case, is replaced by a comforting, warm recollection of fatherly love and fine memories. But 6 years is still short of that, or at least it was for me.
Thanks so much, Karen!
Rod
Karen
18. Feb, 2009
Marianna–you are so right about how our loved ones stay in our hearts. That’s where Dad is now — in my heart always. Thanks so much for sharing this perspective.
Rod–I love the way you describe the grieving process and mine has been exactly that way. Like you, I have the warm memories of my dad that linger after the sharp edges of grief have been worn down over time. Sounds like your dad is still in your heart, as Marianna puts it.
Thanks to both of you for reading — and understanding.
Karen
Madeleine Phillips
18. Feb, 2009
Thank you for sharing the beautiful story of your Dad (although i had heard portions of it before, and it was good to revisit it again). Thank you as well for your personal thoughts about how he affected your life. It is a sweet and poignant reflection on a wonderful man. As you know, I, too, am the oldest of three girls (yet another thing we have in common!). Some day I will tell you a little story about my Dad. Marianna and Rod’s comments were beautifully stated!
Fondly, Madeleine
Marcy
18. Feb, 2009
Beautiful, Karen. I can imagine him through your writing, but also through knowing you.
ByJane
20. Feb, 2009
This is beautiful, Karen. I too had a fantastic father. We’re lucky girls, aren’t we.
Celeste
21. Feb, 2009
Karen:
I love when you write about your parents. I feel so connected. My father passed away when I was seven years of age. He was an Attorney. I do believe that is why I am involved in the legal profession. My father was for the people which made him even more special. I believe that is where I have inherited my compassionate side and have a keen sense of individuals possessing that same quality such as yourself. I am not African American, but I actually get goose bumps when I hear our new President speak and can only imagine how slavery must have felt. Well, I also lost my mother 2 years ago as I have told you. She too was a big part of my life. But somehow I know she is with me, watching and waiting until we can see each other again! Oh what a wonderful moment that will be. God bless you Karen and thank you so much for being you.
Celeste
Karen
25. Feb, 2009
Madeleine–sounds like we need to get together again soon so I can hear about your dad. Hope everything’s going fine in “retirement” although I can just imagine how you are redefining it
Marcy–thanks for that thought because I really hope the best of my dad shows up in me.
Jane–we are lucky girls because we still have the memories of how great our dads were. Have you blogged about yours yet? If so send me the link, I’d love to read that post!
Celeste–I would say how sad that you lost your father at such an early age but it sounds like he really lives on in you. And I know you’ve written about losing your mom here before. I bet you really miss her. My mother is still living as you know. But because she has dementia, it’s like part of her is already gone. It’s a sad thing. But I’m glad for the connection we all make here and share this time of life.
Thanks everyone for your comments and sharing of memories.
Karen