Dad

On my wedding day 19 years ago with my dad. In a simple dress that fit perfectly because my mother made it. It was trimmed in the lace my grandmother crocheted. I wouldn't change anything that day. It was perfect.

The June grass was green and lush along the prairie riverbottom. It was the day after my father's birthday. He spent his birthday mowing and hauling bales to the wedding site and anything else to appease me and my mother.

As we walked to the altar...it was merely a majestic cotton wood tree that survived the hardships of the prairie only to rise again. I remember the song, Daddy's Hands, played. It is still one of my favorites.



Before we left, my dear friend captured a few more photos as the clouds rolled in. I love the hazy moment, as it transcends time--in my mind I can see my great-grandmother pausing on the prairie with her new husband.



Now the man in the hat bequeathing a gentle kiss is a father too. Today he is hiking the coastal mountains along the Pacific Ocean with his son on a 30 mile backpack trip that started yesterday.

My father is farther away, but he is always close in heart.

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.