Reading The Entries

Reading the daily entries that my Father left the day after he died, was something else. I felt like I was reading something that was not mine to read. That I was a little child reading out of the book while hiding in the closest. Hopping not to get caught. I looked up the day I was born, and adopted. What was written made me feel so loved and wanted- when I had just read that someone hadn't wanted me. They gave me away to a family that was waiting with love over flowing for me. Then I looked up every birthday of mine until the day my father quit writing, the day he died? No, the day he sold the farm, it was a death to him. But every one of my birthdays was documented in his book. How very much I needed to feel the love that came from the pages that day while I cried because he had loved me. I find myself crying now as I remember that feeling of love. He lived for farming, but when he realized that we needed more stability he sold that farm and went to work in town. I never knew until that day what he felt he had given up for us, his family was more important than his love to work the land. For that- I will always love him. He showed me by example what matters the most. Dad- thank you.