He Called Me “Daughter”��
My father-in-law often called me “Daughter.” I never asked why, I simply assumed he thought of me as such. Having only one child—my husband—I prefer to think he loved me because of my love for his son.
When my brand new husband was overseas in the U.S. Army, Carl’s dad took care of any car problems I had since I was doing student teaching and no one got paid for that.
In later years, Dad was not good at monitoring his health, having diabetes and heart disease. Living alone, long after my sweet mother-in-law died at just 44 years of age, friends often dropped off pies or other goodies that were just too tasty for him to pass up. All too soon, Dad would be in the hospital for a few days to regulate his blood sugar.
He would then come spend a couple of weeks with us so I could adjust his diet and give his insulin injections. We loved his company. Dad was a born storyteller and he would often sit at the kitchen counter while I cooked and start a tale with, “Lou, you might not believe this but I swear it’s true…” Then he would weave a story like no other.
Some of my favorite times were when it was just the two of us and Dad would tell about his childhood. How he had to drop out of school to run a farm and help take care of younger siblings after his own father died.
He was “Pa-Pa” to my children and shared a special relationship with our son, Jay, who has a speech articulation disorder. However, Pa-Pa swore he understood every word.
I don’t remember Dad ever saying “I love you,” but he showed it in a myriad of ways. He loved my cooking. Loved my teasing. Loved my precious children and knew that I loved him like a second dad.
No wonder he called me “Daughter.”
PS~Jay’s surgery has been rescheduled for June 7th. Thank you a million times over for your prayers. Trusting the Lord for peace, protection, strength and miraculous healing!
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