Sweet Memories

My father always said I was a "Daddy's girl". He told me when I was little, I would always follow him around, especially when he was outside working in the yard. Daddy loved plants and flowers, and if there really was such a thing as a "green thumb", he had two of them. 

One of the stories Daddy told me was, I never wanted to miss watching the interactive children's television show,"Romper Room", (which was a popular kid's show in the early 1960's... which totally dates me). The show's host would say something like, "Now, everyone get your drums!", and Daddy and I would march around our den, beating our drums with the kids on the TV.

Daddy actually had a fairly good singing voice. Every once in a while I could hear him singing with the radio or record player. One night, I probably was about ten years old, Daddy came in my room to tell me goodnight. Sitting on the edge of my bed, he softly started singing this song:

Where are goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby, my own?

Turn around and you're two,

Turn around and you're four,

Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out of the door...

I've never forgotten that night. How Daddy's voice sounded, what the song was, and how my room was dark and he was silhouetted against the light from the hallway. I realized how sweet that moment was even at my young age and committed it to memory.

Daddy had a gentle spirit with a playful personality. He was fun to be around because of his silly sense of humor. Daddy always joked around and didn't mind embarrassing himself or you, for the sake of being funny and getting a laugh or a smile.

Daddy was a big man, 6 foot 4 inches and over 250 pounds. You would think a person of that size would have a hard time hiding himself, but he could sneak up to me and scare the shoes right off my feet.

Once when I went to take a shower Dad really got me. I pushed the shower curtain back to reach in to turn on the water and there he was. His legs were so long he could straddle the tub from the front corner ledge to the back corner ledge, which made him even bigger and taller. I remember being so scared, I couldn't scream and all I could do was jump up and down. The screaming came a few minutes later when I realized "Big Foot" wasn't going to get me, and I got mad.

It's a wonder I didn't develop "bathroomaphobia" because of Daddy's pranks. One day while I was in the bathroom with the door shut, Daddy put his hands on either side of the top of the door frame, his feet against either side of the bottom frame, and pressed his body against the door. Dad being so big, completely filled the door opening up with his body. As I opened the door and tried to take a step out, I literally ran into a wall of my Dad. It was the kind of scare that takes your breathe away... and then you want to hurt someone. Daddy thought it was hysterically funny... I was just hysterical.

When I was older, we moved to a two story house. Daddy told us that the house was haunted because he had seen what appeared to be a ghost. He jokingly named the ghost Beatrice and she became a very popular entity in the house.

Late one night I had several friends with me upstairs. Everyone knew about Beatrice because it became a funny story. As we were having fun and talking, something white floated across my bedroom door. Instantly, and without saying, we all knew it must be Beatrice. We were scared, but we didn't want to leave the room because Beatrice might still be in the hallway.

In the couple of minutes it took for us to calm down and start convincing ourselves there were no such thing as ghosts, there was a very loud knock on the bedroom window... the second story bedroom window.

At that moment we didn't care who or what was in that hall, there were kids running in every direction. Daddy later explained, he had waved a white sheet in front of my door, then ran downstairs and out the front door. Once on the front porch, Dad saw the broom and had the bright idea to hold it up over his head and rap on my window. That event was talked about by my friends for years. I don't think they were convinced that it really was Daddy, and to tell you the truth, to this day I don't know how it was possible for him to get from my bedroom door to outside my window that fast.

One of the things I was most proud of about my Dad, was the fact that he was an artist. I was fascinated by the way he could draw and paint. I remember being little and asking him to draw different animals for me. He would draw them, but they would always have a goofy grin or something funny about them. One year on my birthday, my presents were wrapped in white paper and he drew silly pictures all over my gifts.

Some of the treasures I have kept for years from my Dad, are some drawings he did, and a portrait he painted of my mother in the 1950's. She was a telephone operator and Daddy painted her talking on the phone. This picture of my mother is the first known painting I have of his.

Daddy didn't paint for years, then took his hobby up again later in life. He painted many paintings and even painted on a few sweatshirts. 

Dad gave some of his paintings away and I have no idea who now has possession of those masterpieces. I wish I had a photograph of every painting he ever did, but at the time I didn't realize how precious those paintings would come to mean to me.

Daddy's hands have always had a slight tremor, but the older he got the more his hands shook. In 2002 the shaking was getting to the point where Dad said he didn't think he could paint any more. With some coaxing from me, I asked him to try one more time to paint a canvas for me. I asked him to paint a still life with fruit, so I could hang it in my dining room. That was the last painting he ever did and I am so thankful I have it.

The older Daddy got, the harder it was for him to get up and down. We would be sitting at the table eating, and when Dad's glass would be about empty, he would start rattling the ice left in his glass. He would then look at us sitting in our chairs and say, "While you're up...", and we would laugh, get up and get him a refill. It's a joke in my family now... if we want something, all we have to say is "Rattle, Rattle, Rattle" and we all laughingly know what we mean... would you get up and get it for me?

Daddy loved to talk and visit. Some of my favorite memories with him were sitting at the kitchen table talking and laughing. Hours would go by and we wouldn't realize it because we were having so much fun.

The only times I remember Daddy calling me by my actual name was when I was in trouble. I loved that he always called me "Bren", or "Babe". Dad never hung up the phone without telling me he loved me, never let me leave without a hug, and if he kissed me, he kissed me on the forehead or cheek.

I got the privilege and gift of spending my Daddy's last day on earth with him. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, I was either holding his hand, or he had his hand resting on my knee. We talked when he could, and we even had a few laughs. Right up until the end, Dad smiled and greeted everyone that walked in his room like he had been waiting on them.

I knew Dad needed to rest so I kept telling him to shut his eyes and try to sleep. Daddy said, "But you'll be gone when I wake up...". I assured him I would be there and he dozed off for a while. 

When it was finally time for me to go, I climbed on the bed and told Daddy I would see him in the morning. He asked why was I coming back tomorrow, and I told him I was coming back to visit him. Dad got the biggest smile on his face and said, "Oh, that will be so good..." and he pulled me down, hugged me tightly and gave me the sweetest kiss on my lips. I told him I would see him in the morning and I left.

Just after 5:00 a.m., the ringing of the phone startled me awake. I was on my feet in a split second and with the same motion had the phone in my hand. As I answered the call, I heard the words telling me that my Daddy had peacefully passed away in his sleep. Daddy was gone.

The days that passed were a blur. There was so much on my mind and so much to do. Each day I kept reminding myself I needed to change the battery in my bathroom clock. The time had been stopped every since the morning of the phone call and I hadn't had a chance to change it. The fact the time was wrong would especially bother me in the evening when I would take a hot bath to relax and think, because the clock was right in my line of vision.

About a week later as I was looking at the clock, the time finally registered with my brain. No, no, there was no way... This was crazy thinking... I don't believe in that stuff... It couldn't be, could it? I had to find out just for my own curiosity.

I couldn't help it, I had to ask, "What time did the hospice nurse pronounce Daddy's death after she checked him?"... The answer was 4:46 a.m.

Good bye to you too Daddy... I love you and can't wait to see you again.

JOSHUA "JAY" WILLIAM BRAZEALE

9/8/1928 - 6/28/2011