Letter to Dad

Dearest Papa (Dad),

I don't want to end this day without letting you know how much I miss you.  Today, I got to reminisce our special times together.  Tagging me along with you to go to Dad-and-Son events when I was little (because you had all girls).  Making us feel how proud you are of 'your girls'.  Someone asked me today what's the first thing that comes to mind when I think about you.

This one does.  The weekend we built my little sister's dresser when I was seven, my first lesson in carpentry.  You taught me the value of creating something with my little hands and how fulfilling it is to give.  My sister was just born for few weeks that time and you simply said 'She'll be happy to know you helped built it'. I didn't understood before how she can appreciate it since she was so small.  But in time I understood what you meant.

Thank you for staying those late nights to help me figure out math.  I never thought that I can win over my weakness in numbers.  With your patience, I became a math wizard in fifth grade.  You showed me that perseverance has its rewards and it was a lesson I carried all throughout up to now.   But really, it was your patience and the countless hours you devoted for me that got me through those challenges.

You never missed an important event in my life, however busy you were at work.  You were a quiet man who said less but showed more with your deeds.  You were there to cheer and witness my accomplishments and made me see beyond the hurts and failures.  That I had a choice, either give up or stand up.  Sulk deep in sadness  or pick up the lessons learned.  Time and again, it was proven that choosing the latter was better.  And that crying doesn't mean one was weak.

Like the time I had my first heartbreak and went home sobbing.  You and Ma sat there with me and you said 'Cry all you want tonight, but tomorrow starts a new beginning'.  It was easier said than done but I did it with both your encouragement and support. When everything else failed, you reminded us to pray harder and that there are no limits to trying again.

I loved that the people at your work knew all our names.  It showed that you talked about us fondly.  I miss talking about politics, love, life and trivial things with you in our orchids' garden.  My husband brings me orchids every spring to remind me of you.  You would have loved him too.  You both enjoy gardening and plants.  I talk about you to my sons, your grandsons.  I tell them stories of the vegetable gardens you set up for us so we can grow things and our trips to the rivers.

I will not forget the pride in your eyes when we walked arms together towards the stage on my college graduation and watching mom put the medal around my neck.  And how excited you were to hear I got my first job.

I didn't know it was that Monday I will see you last.  That in two days, God will take back the father he blessed us.  We were both looking forward to our date that weekend, I was going to treat you and mom from my first ever paycheck.  Instead, we all had to dress for your funeral.

I wish I can share with you the life I have now or recount the years you missed.  Like the time I walked down the aisle, promotions I got, attend my art shows (yes, I'm an artist now because of you) or the births of our boys.  Share special moments with your grandkids and get to know the loving husband and father God blessed me and my children.

We never got the chance to bid each other goodbye.  But perhaps we didn't have to.  Because just like you said 'We'll always be in each other's hearts'.

Dad, Mom, Me and Sisters (below). Circa 1978.

Pa, Happy Father's Day.  I love you with all my heart.

i heART Dad

It's time for 'Magnificent Mondays'.

My picks for this week - Artistic Gift Ideas for Dads.

Click here to find out more about this week's picks.

I lost my Dad several years ago.

Curating this treasury made me a little teary eyed.

Here's to all the Dads and daddy-to-be out there.

Coconuts Breaking

'Coconuts'.  My First Oil Painting.  April 1999.

Everytime I'm interviewed about my art, one question always come up.  How did I became an artist?

Oftentimes I'm tempted to answer 'I was born as one'.  But that won't be a justified reply.  Although I believe my artistic talents have been bestowed since birth, it wasn't until a tragedy happened that I heeded to that artful calling.

'Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.', is one of my favorite quotes from Picasso.  It hits home for me.  As much as I enjoyed creating with my hands as a child, I set aside my penchant for art to pursue a more financially rewarding college degree.   Dad said, if money isn't a problem, we'll have easier time pursuing other interests in life and even help others.

He was right on.   Except for one thing.  He missed the part that his sudden demise will leave such a gaping hole in our lives.  At age forty-nine, on a Wednesday morning, he died of heart attack.  We were supposed to go out that Sunday to celebrate Easter with my first paycheck from my first job.  Instead, Easter became a day of mourning as we laid him to his final rest.

Standing there, I was so numb from the sudden pain of loss, from the disbelief that he's gone.  No tears fell.   It was only after every one who expressed their sympathy has gone home, did I gave in to that unbearable grief.  I cried for days.

Life must go on, he would always urge us.  From challenges come opportunity, he'd say when things in school or at work get rough, or friendships sour.   

I took Mom out for a lunch date a week after, we talked about Dad and what he'd want us to do.  Be strong, she said.  'I don't know how to', was all I can say.  That's when a sign for a four-day art workshop at a local bookstore caught her eyes.  

'Why not give it a try, you've always been artistic', Mom said.  So I did.  Two weeks after Easter, I finished my first oil painting of coconuts.  After ten years and several more ambitious works of art, this one still hangs proudly in my mom's living room.  

Reminding us that life is what you make out of it.  Dad might have been gone, but his passing left me a gift that keeps on giving - To cherish life like never before.

So when life brings you hard coconuts to break, paint it.

Dad

A Father's Day Poem  by Sherie Sloane

Dad and our little man, watching the sunset.

One of my favorite random shot.

Because of you

I am steadfast and strong

Carrying on through the storm

Because of you

I knew right from wrong

Learning when to drift along

Because of you

I found courage in fear

Daring trepidation in tiers

Because of you

I stood up after a fall

Recognizing I never lost it all

Because of you

I triumphed after each loss

Applauding wisdom amidst the cost

Because of you

I am cherished and spirit's free

Living and loving in higher degree

Advance Happy Father's Day to all dads out there.  

I wrote this poem last year, thinking about my own Dad and all the years he stood by us through good times and tough ones.  

Dad, this is for you.  May our love reach you in heaven.  I miss you, we all do.

Feel free to copy the poem (please include author's name) and give it to the special men in your lives.

 

Celebrating Imperfection

Is there any part of your body you would want to change?  

I cringe whenever I hear that question.  Assuming you have the power to do just that, will you opt to differ that one spot or part you are least proud of?

I would.  My toes.  Mine are not the prettiest, they have callouses and little bumps on top, a result of one of my childhood explorations.  Poor little toes, I decided to vent my creativity on them one day when I was seven, playing 'I can fix it'.  I'll leave it at that.  

Two decades forward, I walked down the aisle with my imperfect toes to say 'I do' to my husband of three years.  Few years after, I was trotting with a huge bump on my belly for forty one weeks with our firstborn.   And last night, we heard the sweetest sound on earth - our little guy's first spontaneous belly laugh.

With raised feet up on the air, I wiggled my toes (yes, those plain toes that need pedicure).  He found that so hilarious, for reasons only a baby knows.  Once again, I thank God, not just for my toes but for our little bundle of joy.

My parents did a fantastic job raising us to always appreciate our God-given features, always noting that we are wonderfully made, no matter what.  Pretty toes or not.

So, cheer up for being imperfect.