Tag Archives: memories

Box of Cards

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I’ve been thinking about a dad a lot these last few days. His birthday is tomorrow, September 16th and I find myself getting emotional during this time since he’s been gone. I started to think about all the celebrations we had for Father’s Day and birthdays. Those were not celebrations to be missed. No matter what was going on or where we all were in life, we all seemed to find the time to show up.

It didn’t matter if we were at a restaurant, in the backyard of someone’s house, or just sitting at his kitchen table in his apartment. He didn’t want anything fancy, just us coming together. Gatherings for dad were about celebrating him being the dad and grandpa we needed him to be, not about decorations or presents. Don’t get me wrong, there were presents of all kinds, “best dad” t-shirts, #1 Grandpa hats, coffee mugs, shoes, nice dress shirts and the occasional 6 pack of beer. He would sit back and unwrap his gifts and read every card. I do miss card shopping for Dad. I would take my time to find the right cards from me and the kids. I knew he read them all. He treasured each one, maybe more than his gifts.

A couple of years ago, I was going through some of dads things and came across a shoe box full of cards. As soon as I finished reading one card, I couldn’t stop crying.  I closed the box up and put it away for another day. I wasn’t ready.

Today, I decided to try looking through the box of cards again. I figured since I wasn’t going to be card shopping for dad, maybe I could read the carefully chosen cards for dad.

I emptied the box out and spread the cards out on the floor of his old room. I cried like a baby, then of course I sorted and organized  and then I read every card and every hand written note he saved. They were well taken care of, all looked brand-new. It was not a surprise, but I found several of his voter registration cards mixed in the box. There were also graduation invitations that he cherished and did his best to attend, even when it was hard to get around. Education came first to dad, always and he would be there to celebrate if he could.


Dad also had several “Thank You” cards for his generosity and friendship. Our former neighbors Sandy and John became friends with my dad and were always finding ways to thank him for being a good neighbor. That was dad. He would find a way to be helpful and kind to anyone. He started a neighborly tradition that whoever woke up first and picked up their newspaper from the driveway, they would take pick up their neighbors paper from their driveway and put it on their doorstep to save them steps. The funny thing was that dad was an early riser and Ms. Sandy and Mr. John were late sleepers so it was always my dad delivering their paper just like the mailman he used to be.
But the card I came across that really just epitomized dad’s pampering of people in his life was from a long-time family friend and his banker, Renee. He knew how to take care of the people who provided good service to him.


There were also cards wishing him a speedy recovery, thinking of you and welcome home that just kept the tears coming.

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How cute were the “Grandpa” cards and poster?! The kids really enjoyed picking out cards for him because they knew he enjoyed getting them.

There were so many Father’s Day and Birthday cards that were chosen just for him. It was overwhelming and beautiful all at the same time. Dad made us all feel special. He was the dad we each needed him to be, even if it wasn’t exactly at the time we needed him, he showed up anyway and then he stayed put. Dad became my anchor when I felt like I was floating away, my confidant when I felt alone in the world, my cheerleader when I doubted myself, my shoulder to cry on when my heart hurt and my example to parent with unconditional love.

I could feel all the love, admiration and appreciation jump right off of those cards and into my heart.  I wondered if that’s what dad felt and if that’s why he kept all these cards

Sacred Space

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coffee cup

Dad made coffee every day. He had a collection of coffee mugs—mostly Father’s day type mugs “Best Dad” “I Love My Grandpa”, but he had his favorite, the BIG Starbucks mug that seemed to hold half a pot of coffee. I remember I would find that half-full mug everywhere around the house. He always offered me a cup, and I usually turned it down as I rushed out of the house and made my way through the Starbucks drive-thru. On the occasions I did take him up on his offer, we would sit at the table and talk about life. I didn’t realize those would be the moments I would miss the most. It was the little moments that matter the most; that I miss the most and I wish I could have back again.
Now a days, I find myself standing in that same spot every morning and on most weekends making a second cup of coffee and then misplacing it somewhere around the house while I’m cleaning. I can’t help but smile and think of dad when I find my half-full mug in the most random places.
My morning coffee routine didn’t really start out as a coffee addiction, although I can’t seem to start a day without it, but after dad died I decided to keep his morning routine going.  I found that space to be calming it’s what I call dad’s sacred space, right there in my kitchen where he stood every morning. In that space he would inhale the hopes of the day and exhale away the mistakes and regrets of yesterday, it was a space where he prepared not just a cup of coffee, but where prepared himself for the day ahead and where he would invite me in. Dad’s routine was just a mundane routine when my life was so busy and fast and the little things were not important enough to notice or accept his invitation often enough.
What I have learned to embrace and cherish is that sweet spot of time and space when the house is quiet and the kids are asleep and all you can hear is the percolating sound of the coffee. I stand there in that sacred space, and I swear I feel daddy. I’ll close my eyes and I can feel his hand on my shoulder or just his presence in the room. I’ll inhale the hopes of the day and exhale the mistakes and regrets of yesterday and I’ll take a minute to be thankful for all the little things, the little moments I was too busy to notice before, right there in our sacred space.

sacred-space

Stacy Adams

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shoesstacy adams

When dad was hospitalized at the VA, I remember bringing him things from home. We didn’t know how long he would be there initially, so, at first the items he asked for were every day essentials like his dictionary and thesaurus that he used for his daily cross word puzzles, his favorite pajamas and his cologne, in case he met a pretty nurse. That was dad!
After a roller coaster ride of diagnosis, prognosis, treatment plans and an undetermined length of hospital stay, he asked me to bring his prized possession to the hospital, his fancy black Stacy Adams, the shoes that brought him to all the special moments in his life like our graduations, weddings, funerals, holidays and of course, every Father’s Day celebration.
Like a good daughter, I obeyed. I went home, wrapped up his fancy black Stacy Adams and brought them to him on my daily trip to the VA. He gave me specific instructions: “Mijita, take these to the shoe shine man we say hello to every day. Tell him to give these a good shine and let him know they are for me. He knows me.”
Of course he knew dad. Everybody at the VA knew dad. When I wheeled him around to his appointments or just to get out and about, he was like the big man on campus “Hey Pacheco” sounded around every corner and good Lord if we passed by any women I’d have to push his wheel chair a little faster before he proposed to one of them.
I dropped off the shoes and told the shoe shine guy to give them a good shine for Manuel Pacheco. He smiled and said “Hey..Hey…for Pacheco, of course! Just give me a couple of days so I can do them right.”
I passed by the shoe shine guy every morning and we would exchange a hello and he’d give me an update. “Not ready just yet.” I gave dad the daily update and he would just laugh. I grew frustrated at the delay and he said “Aye Mijita, calm down. Things run a little slower here at the VA.” Boy did I learn that first hand.
We were getting close to discharge and finally, on my way past the shoe shine guy, he waved me over to let me know the shoes were ready. He held them up as if they were a trophy. Those beautiful black shiny Stacy Adams sure were pretty. I told him we would pick them up on our way out.
After what seemed like an eternity, dad was discharged. We were ready to go home, but first, we had one last stop at the VA. I watched the exchange between the two of them. Again the shoe shine guy held up the shoes like they were a trophy and dad looked at them like his prized possession. He thanked him and as usual, gave him a huge tip.
On our drive home dad told me he used to be a shoe shine boy. I never knew that! I treasured these tid-bits of his life he would share. I got used to dad sharing things from his past. It was usually in the quiet moments that he would share something new. I really miss those moments.
After we got home, dad put his shoes right back in the same spot, in the closet. I kept waiting for him to put them on for some special occasion or just because. He never did. A month after he was discharged home under hospice care, he passed away.
The next time dad wore his fancy black Stacy Adams was at his funeral. As I think about our time together and all the “preparation” conversations we had, I can’t help but think he knew that would be his last shoe shine and he knew the next time he would be wearing those shoes would be at his funeral. That was dad, even in death, he was going to go out in style with his fancy black Stacy Adams.

Art work by Jesse Rodriguez of Magnolia Grown