“I want to honor all the lessons of my father, for my life and longer, and together we are stronger … I say thank you, I say thank you, I say thank you, thank you very much …” ~ Thank You Very Much, Rising Appalachia

I have many memories of my father, from my very early years when I was too young to even know that my memories were forming, to those throughout my growing up years and from when I was already grown. My father was an integral part of each part of my life. He was always a father, no matter how old I was.  

One of my earliest memories is from the time I was around five years old. We were at the neighborhood pool, and without saying anything to him, I hatched a plan to show my father how I had learned to tread water. We were at the diving board, and while he stood talking with a friend, I made my big jump and furiously started treading water. Per my plan, I urgently called out, “Daddy! Daddy!” to make sure he was watching. That’s when he made his own big jump. Thinking I was in distress, he leapt into the pool, surprising me by suddenly appearing in the water right in front of my face! He surfaced with his hair flattened to his forehead and scooped me up. The next thing I knew I was wrapped in a towel, seated on his lap in the lounge chairs on the lawn.

I struggled to explain myself, but I was too young to find the words. So, I sat there crying in his arms, not realizing that he’d just shown me who he’d be to me for the rest of his life. He would be a father who was there at a moment’s notice, who would never hesitate to jump in with his help. A father who would always be nearby to lift me up and out of trouble.

This past week I asked him about some of my memories, and whether he remembered how when I was little, he would regularly lift me up to seat me high atop the refrigerator or onto the roof of his car or high on his shoulders – all of which I thought was incredibly cool. He said he did remember. And then I asked him about whether he also remembered how he later lifted me up in other ways. As an adult, whenever I was feeling fretful, he would remind me to find my strong backbone.

In one of his greatest leaps ever, together with my mother, my father jumped in again, this time to help me raise my children, Alexandra and Ben. With their births, and the subsequent births of his other grandchildren and great grandchildren, he became a Zaide in the same way he had been a father. He was an integral part of their lives, too, always nearby to lift them up in the same ways he had always lifted me.

There are things that I love that my father loved, too. He loved the water. He was a Coast Guardsman, which may explain his affinity for the ocean, and for several years our family enjoyed a place at the beach. He would swim with us and walk with us along the water. Just recently, my brother and sister and I reminisced with him about the times he’d take us all to Great Falls where we would climb the rocks along the river, walk on the canal, and step out over the falls.

In the summers, he’d wake us up to watch the nighttime thunderstorms from inside the sliding glass doors of the dining room, and once he even let us play outside in the rain! I remember it was a huge daytime storm with water gushing down the streets and into the sewers. He told us to take off our shoes and let us run around outside like puppies, so we could get soaked while playing in the yard and even in the street. I remember standing in first position inside the curb, watching the rainwater build up between my feet before rushing over the tops of them. I also remember the moment my mother drove up from her trip to the grocery store, shocked to find her children gallivanting in the rain like that, asking what in the world was going on and ushering us quickly inside!

My father taught me how to skip rocks, poured teaspoons of coffee into my milk on Saturday mornings, and snuck me pieces of frozen desserts at night when the kitchen was closed. He swam with us in the ocean and made us igloos in the snow and drove us around in his Spitfire. Everything he did with me he did again with my children and more. He was part of their lives in the same way he’d been part of mine, cheering them on in their successes and holding them close in their struggles.

My father also taught me how to stand on my head. When I started practicing yoga as an adult, it occurred to me that he was the one who first taught me how to go upside down. I have a clear mental picture of him demonstrating a headstand on the shag carpet of the TV room in our childhood home.

And then there came the day when I realized that my father might very well have been a yogi all along. Yoga teaches us about interconnectedness, and one day I saw that he had clipped a quote from the newspaper and taped it to his fish tank. It was a quote by Pope Francis that read, “Because all creatures are connected, each must be cherished with love and respect, for all of us as living creatures are dependent on one another.”

This was a sentiment he expressed over, and over again, especially in the days that he was leaving us. In the days before he left, he was able to let each of us know how much he loved us and what his wishes were for our futures. He told us that everything was all about love, and that it was love that connected us all.

“We give love out,” he said, “and we get love back.” He gestured with his hand, showing us the flow of love, back and forth, showing us how it was love that connected us, and how it was love that was most important.

But really, he didn’t have to show us, because we had witnessed this sentiment in him for all our lives; it was reflected in how he lived his. His was a life of devotion, and first and foremost, he was devoted to my mother, our treasured Bubbie. With her, he lived a life filled with a love that fed his heart and soul.

“Look at my beautiful bride!” he would exclaim, especially in recent years. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

And when he knew he was leaving, he implored us, “Take care of Bubbie! Take care of Bubbie!” And while we promised we would, we knew there would never be any doubt, not only because we love her like no other, but because my father had taught us well.

From him we had already learned that loving each other is what always matters most.