“You are the kiss your father left behind.”
Child's Play x2 | September 9As I have written before, my father died when I was six years old. It is the defining moment of my life. Who I am today (and who I am not) started the day my father died. It is this tragedy, never far from my consciousness, that drives me as a father. For the past 15 months, as my two precious little ones have grown before my eyes, the thought that I could be gone tomorrow drives me. I don’t take being the father of my children for granted. I play with them when I am tired. I smother them with kisses and gentle touches whenever I leave them because it just might be the last time I see them. I revel in their joy as I want to teach them that life is truly remarkable. We cannot take being alive - being amongst loved ones - for granted.
But even then I am not always “in the moment.” At those times something always jolts me back to the present - reminding me what is important and what is not. This week, my reminder comes from the anniversary of 9/11. This past week Primetime on ABC ran a follow-up story called “9/11 Babies: Five Years Later.” It was a painful reminder that there were countless other victims besides those who lost their life that day - children who will never know their fathers. I purposely left the room when the story began, knowing that I would not be able to sit through the segment without my emotions bubbling over. Unfortunately, I returned a few moments too soon as the story was ending with an interview of a woman explaining how her son told her that his father would come sit beside him when he was a baby. Soonafter a photo montage of smiling dads interspersed with smiling faces of their children appeared. Lonestar’s I’m Already There played in the background.
I glanced at my wife as tears streamed down both of our faces. I walked over and gave her a hug. Through my tears I looked at her and said, “I will always be here for them. If something happens to me, I will always be watching over them.”
We hugged and held each other for a few moments. I gathered myself and left the room once again. This year I not only mourn for the victims of 9/11 but I ache for the children those fathers never got to hold. While I’m not overly religious, it seems appropriate to say a prayer for those children. I pray they find strength when they need it most. I pray they know how very much their fathers love them. I also pray for their mothers to continue to be the rock these children need.
Finally, I pray I never take what I have for granted. I pray that I always put my children’s needs ahead of my own. I pray that I have many years to spend with these two loves of my life. But if I don’t, I will go knowing that my children know how very much their father loves them and that I will always be looking out for them.
Dam Matthew, you are making me cry again. You are a phenomenal daddy. They are very lucky to have you. I’m sure you’ll be there for them for years and years to come.
Touching stuff. Thank you. You might be interested in my column today (Sept. 10) at The Beaumont Enterprise.
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WE SHOULD MOURN OUR LOSSES OF 9/10 MORE THAN 9/11
Commentary by RON FRANSCELL
Tomorrow, America will join in a collective requiem for Sept. 11, 2001, the day our world changed.
But it’s the wrong day to mourn.
For me, it is not the dead of 9/11 who haunt me, although my spirit genuinely aches for them. It is the death of the world I knew on 9/10. Five years ago today, I lived more outside the walls that have suddenly sprung up around me. If that was naïve, I was comfortable in my naivete. I miss it.
So it is Sept. 10, 2001, for which I grieve. I want that day back as much as I would like to restore the dead people, the damaged lives and the shattered contentment of the next morning. As we re-convene this national funeral for the fifth time, I choose to remember America as it was on Sept. 10, not what it became on Sept. 11. …
Read the rest of it here
[…] This morning, as I was reading through my regular blogs, I came across this entry at The Blogfathers. Here is an excerpt: As I have written before, my father died when I was six years old. It is the defining moment of my life. Who I am today (and who I am not) started the day my father died. It is this tragedy, never far from my consciousness, that drives me as a father. For the past 15 months, as my two precious little ones have grown before my eyes, the thought that I could be gone tomorrow drives me. I don’t take being the father of my children for granted. I play with them when I am tired. I smother them with kisses and gentle touches whenever I leave them because it just might be the last time I see them. I revel in their joy as I want to teach them that life is truly remarkable. We cannot take being alive - being amongst loved ones - for granted. […]
Always love what you write and today you are as poignant as ever.
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I think of those children often as I was pregnant during that time. Peace to you. What a beautiful post.
I lost my father when I was older–16–but I would have had to leave the room the same as you. And I always tell Mama and 3B (and yes, even Barky) that I love them every time that we part because, as you said, I never know if that’s the last time I’ll see them, and I always want them to know that I love them. It pains me every time I hear about children losing their parents, and while I’m not at all religious, I think those prayers of yours are worth repeating a few times.
Wonderful post. Thanks.
i thought you wrote a lovely piece today - the path to 9/11 is being shown on irish tv tonight and i shall make myself watch because we can never forget the horrible things that happened. we cannot let them define us - we are define by our reaction to their evil. Peace.
Amen.
I didn’t watch that particular program. I knew it would make me a wreck. I did watch the documentary made by the two french brothers of a downtown firehouse. I had seen it before and cried. I watched it again this year and thought more about your father and the man that he was, than about my own feelings about his death. He was a firefighter. He was one of them. A hero, a caregiver, a man who puts the needs of others before his. Even, now after all these years, I have a soft spot for firefighters because I know they are truly fine men, like your father. Love Mom
Hi, I’m searching the web for “you are the kiss that Daddy left behind”. My mom wrote this to me in my birthday card which drove me to instant tears. When I asked her if she wrote these words herself, she said she thought she heard it in a song, but I haven’t been able to find the song……any help you can give me on this phrase would be appreciated! Thank you. Sherie