A loveletter to my daughter

1st set:
Top left: She melts my heart and has her mom's eyes. Top right: Relaxing with a cold drink in the hot tub. Bottom left: She's on the right, proving with her big feet that we're related. Bottom right: Last over-the-shoulder glance back as she prepares to board the plane back to Berlin.

2nd set:
Top left: Returning from lunch. Top center: An opportune moment at home. Top right: Visiting me at work. Middle left: In my boat on Lake Lewisville, TX. Middle center: Not so camera-shy.
Middle right: Visiting me at work. Bottom left: Admiring a Texas Jackeloupe. Bottom center: Giving Fred a bath. Bottom right: Kite-flying in my back yard.

I have recently updated this blog - nearly a year after I created it. I learned how to make images appear on the page so no one would have to copy/paste links. I still don't know how to place the images where I want them, but in the overall scheme of things, that's pretty small cheese.

What follows is a slightly-edited copy/paste from the original. I removed URLs to images you'd have to copy/paste in order to view, and corrected a couple of typos. Posted April 3rd, 2007



[Almost] original blog:

Sunday, June 18, 2006

I'm new at this, so (more) errors should come as no surprise.

Today, June 18th, 2006, Fathers' Day, I learned that my only child - a daughter, had died.
She was barely a month past her 40th birthday when cancer took her. And I wasn't there.

I wasn't there for my daughter.. Again.

I'm not feeling very good about myself.. justifiably, I think. So if it appears that I'm kicking my own ass, just stay the hell out of it. I deserve it.

Where to begin...???


Overview, I suppose. What's my intention with this? At this point I'm not entirely sure, except to say that I would encourage readers to DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DID!

An admission of guilt, shortcomings..

A celebration of a life too short.

A long-overdue acknowledgment that the value of motherhood doesn't receive nearly the recognition and accolades it deserves.


*Flashback*

I would come home from work at the tiny USAF radar site in Kentucky and my infant daughter would climb onto my foot and sit, with her arm wrapped around my calf. I'd walk around the place and ask my wife, "Karin? Where's Dalene? She should be here someplace and I've looked all over!!"

Dalene would bubble with heart-melting laughter at her subterfuge.


Girls come equipped with "tools" far more sophisticated than the heftiest torque wrench or digital multimeter. At about 4 years of age Dalene proudly announced that rain came from clouds.

"Yep. I know it.", said I.

"Daddy? You know everything!"

I was physically shaken at how thoroughly she'd impaled me.



Dalene = "Chicken" & "kid" <--My nicknames for her, both affectionate.

Dalene = "Sunshine" & "Pumpkin" <-- My ex-wife's admittedly more affectionate nicknames for her.


" 'C'mere, kid."
"Let's see how you do on this bike." Dalene rode and steered while I pushed. Ear-splitting screams of terror emerged from my daughter.

Until about the third try.

I think the bike had to be surgically removed from my kid's butt. She rode it, she owned it, she became one with it.


As a toddler, Dalene was watched over carefully. Behavior that could be dangerous was smartly discouraged. As when she would reach to explore an electrical outlet.

I tried (intrinsically - it wasn't concious thought) to direct the correction impersonally - by slapping the offending fingers, and admonishing the (impersonal) fingers to stop it!

Goody for me.

Not very many years later I made it a (bad?) habit to 'tap'/whack the top of Dalene's head with the pads of my fingertips when I felt it was necessary to get her attention to correct her behavior.


Remember the thing I mentioned earlier about girls coming equiped with "tools"?

Dalene was doing something which I felt was out of line, so I raised my hand, at which point she crossed her hands over her head to ward off my corrective swat.

I felt like a child-beater.
Skewered again.


*rewind*

My ex wife deserves so much credit and gratitude from me that I doubt I'll ever be up to the task of compensating her to the level she is entitled to.

Karin is my EX wife.

Because I fucked up. Period. No "wiggle room" to weasel my way out of it.

Karin divorced me and returned to Berlin with our daughter.

Because it was the best thing to do.

Yet Dalene still loved me. <-- THAT is no small gift from my ex wife. Karin continued to nurture the love Dalene had for her daddy. I'm eternally grateful to Karin for that. Mere words fail to communicate the level of value.
A daughter's love = ??
There is no scale.

Thank You, Karin.

Thank You more than I know how to say, and Thank You more than you will ever know.

Thank You for Dalene's love.
I know where it came from.


*Flashback*

I'm still off-balance so "organization", or the lack thereof, should NOT be held against me at this point.

I'll be adding to this - both verbiage and photos as time goes on.

"A Love Letter to my Daughter" happens to be a title that popped into my head several years ago. The concept is pretty simple: Say the things that always needed to be said, but weren't.

"weren't" <-- That's a bad word.

Don't let "weren't" happen to you.


G'night.

Jim posted by Daddy at 8:01 PM