Remembering you daddy …

A song that was written about loss, life, and love by Rachel Talbot that speaks to how I feel about the loss of my daddy in September 2020 at the height of the pandemic. I could not travel. I had to stay at home and wait – for him to die. I would give a day to spend with my daddy just to see him smile, he had a wicked wit, to listen to his snarky remarks and his wise advice. To just be able to give him one more hug and tell him how much I love him, just one more thank you. How do you live without the most important parent[s] that brought you into this life? I do by the grace of God go on, but there is an emptiness in my chest that I just cannot fill that leaves me breathless – hollow, every time I remember, every day – my daddy.

Rachel Talbot

I miss you …

16 thoughts on “Remembering you daddy …

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  1. Pennsylvania Evening Post, Tuesday, April 30, 1776:

    “The First of May, A new Song in Praise of St. Tammany, the American Saint—
    “Tune, The hounds are all out &c.

    “Of St. George or St. Bute, let the poet laureat sing,
    Of Pharaoh or Pluto of old,
    While he rimes forth their praise, in false flattering lays,
    I’ll sing of St. Tamm’ny the bold, my brave boys.
    Let Hibernia’s sons boast, make Patrick their toast,
    And Scots Andrew’s fame spread abroad,
    Potatoes and oates and Welch Leeks, for Welch goats,
    Was never St. Tammany’s food, my brave boys.
    In freedom’s bright cause, Tammany pled with applause,
    And reason’d most justly from nature;
    For this, this was his song, all, all the day long,
    Liberty’s the right of each creature, brave boys.
    Whilst under an oak his great parliament sat,
    His throne was the crotch of the tree,
    With Solomon’s look, without statutes or book,
    He wisely sent forth his decree, my brave boys.
    His subjects stood round, not the least noise or sound,
    Whilst freedom blaz’d full in each face;
    So plain were the laws, and each pleaded his cause,
    That might Bute, North and Mansfield disgrace, my brave boys.
    No duties nor stamps, their blest liberty cramps,
    A King, tho’ no tyrant was he;
    He did oft’ times declare, nay sometimes would swear,
    The least of his subjects were free, my brave boys.
    He, as King of the woods, of the rivers and floods,
    Had a right all beasts to control;
    Yet content with a few, to give nature her due,
    So gen’rous was Tammany’s soul! my brave boys.
    In the morn he arose, and a hunting he goes,
    Bold Nimrod his second, was he;
    For his breakfast he’d take a large venison stake,
    And dispis’d your flip-flops and tea, my brave boys.
    While all in a row, with squaw, dog and b__,
    Vermilion adorning his face;
    With feathery head he rang’ d the woods wide,
    Sure St. George had never such grace, my brave boys:
    His jetty black hair, such as Buckskin saints wear,
    Perfumed with bear’s grease well smear’d,
    Which illum’d the saint’s face, and ran down apace,
    Like the oil from off Aaron’s beard, my brave boys.
    The strong nervous deer, with amazing career,
    In swiftness he’d fairly run down,
    And, like Sampson, wou’d tear wolf, lion or bear;
    Ne’er was such a saint as our own, my brave boys.
    When he’d run down a stag, he behind him wou’d lag,
    For so noble a soul had he!
    H’d stop, tho’ he lost it, tradition reports it,
    To give him fresh chance to get free, my brave boys.
    From his quiver he drew forth an arrow so keen,
    And seiz’d fast his imperial bow;
    It flew straight to the heart, like an Israelite dart;
    Could St. Andrew ever do so, my brave boys?
    With a mighty strong aim, and a masculine bow,
    His arrow he drew to the head,
    And as sure as he shot, it was ever his lot,
    His prey it fell instantly dead, my brave boys.
    His table he spread, where the venison bled;
    Be thankful, he used to say;
    He’d laugh and he’d sing, tho’ a saint and a king,
    And sumptuously dine on his prey, my brave boys.
    Then over the hills, o’er the mountains and rills,
    He’d caper, such was his delight;
    And ne’er in his days, Indian history says,
    Did lack a good Supper at night, my brave boys.
    On an old stump he sat, without cap or hat,
    When Supper was ready to eat;
    Snap his dog, he stood by, and cast a sheep’s eye,
    For venison’s the king of all meat, my brave boys.
    Like Isaac of old, and both cast in one mould,
    Tho’ a wigwam was Tamm’ny’s cottage,
    He lov’d sav’ry meat, such that patriarch eat;
    Of ven’son and squirrel made pottage, my brave boys.

    As old age came on, he grew blind, deaf and dumb,
    Tho’ his sport ‘twere hard to keep from it,
    Quite tired of life, bid adieu to his wife,
    And blaz’ d like the tail of a comit, my brave boys.
    What country on earth, then did ever give birth,
    To such a magnanimous saint?
    His acts far excel all that history tell,
    And language too feeble to paint, my brave boys.
    Now to finish my song, a full flowing bowl;
    I’ll quaff’ and sing the long day,
    And with punch and wine paint my cheeks for my saint,
    And hail ev’ry first of Sweet May, my brave boys.”

    Kawanio che Keeteru!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. “These glowing colours our applause command,
      The happy work of fair Eliza’s hand!
      Here as her genius and her taste we trace,
      Each savage feature softens into grace,
      What various merit must adorn the youth,
      How must he shine in valour, wit and truth,
      Who wins the heart of this accomplished Fair,
      And finds his happy image pictured there.”

      Liked by 1 person

        1. Sorry for your loss, you must have loved your father dearly. No disrespect was intended in posting my annual dance on this thread.

          ps – Your father will get any letters or prayers you send him. Even the purloined letter always arrives at its’ destination. It’s what the Holy Spirit does, He delivers them.

          Liked by 1 person

      1. @AoW Thanks for explaining my post… it is only on second sight that I now realize that this wasn’t the proper place for it.

        Kawanio che Keeteru!

        Liked by 2 people

  2. It is my curse to be the youngest member of my generation in my family — the family I’ve been close to, that is). I have, of course, buried Mom (1987 at age 71), Dad (1998 at age 86), my beloved cousin-like-a-brother Jack (1992 at age 49), and countless others. Now that I finally have a house to display some of their items I so treasure, I feel closer to them.

    So sorry that you lost your father in such a way. My heart aches for you! I can’t imagine how bereft not to be there has affected you. ❤

    When my first husband died, we were on the last days of lockdown. I count myself blest that he was allowed to have visitors (negative COVID for him, then the hospice facility, where we didn’t bother to wear masks most of the time). I got to say my goodbyes, and so did he, and so did many of his friends. The funeral was very limited, though, to only 20 total in attendance. sigh Thank the Lord that the graveside service had no such limitations; that service was packed — he was so beloved by the veterans’ community.

    Take my word for it, there is an emptiness in my chest that I just cannot fill that leaves me breathless goes on for a long time. In my experience, anyway.

    PS: Love this song in this blog post!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, my friend. I know you, like myself have had many trials in life and have had long suffering. This is life but I look forward to the day where we all meet in Heaven “and know as we are known.” Can you imagine the sheer joy? God bless you dear one.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I can’t imagine the joy you’ve lost, and I am terribly sorry for that loss. Losing a parent, especially one that you have been close to your whole life is the second worse loss you can imagine (the first being a child). But rest easy in the fact that your daddy is in a much better place, and being looked after by the best of the best. And yes, you will be reunited one day. What a glorious day it will be! God bless you Layla!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. I have lost a child and a father so I am acquainted with sorrow just as our Lord was acquainted with our sorrow. I always pray to take rest in that knowledges. I do believe it is wrong to compare the loss of a child with a parent or one young vs. one old. It is all loss and each of us deal with it as there is no escape. God gives us the grace to go on despite pain and loss and sends His comforter. Thank you for your kind words.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. LAYLA…a father and a CHILD! I am so sorry! I ADORED my Dad, too….I was in my early Forties when we lost him…..My mother is 91 and I dread the day…..she’s in so much pain so often I have mixed emotions but not to talk to her every evening on the phone will be something I can’t even imagine. Lately, many friends have lost their mothers and I feel hopeful that their horrid losses and their getting through them will help me….
    AOW….I always say I’m very glad I’m the eldest of 5 sisters because if the natural order happens, I won’t have to see any of them go!! I SO understand your situation…..
    Love to you both….Blessings on Sunday and always.

    FJ….every year….Kawanio che Keeteru!…every blog 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  5. “How do you live without the most important parent[s] that brought you into this life?”
    I asked myself that same question many times after my dad and stepmom both died within 6 months of each other in 2012. And I’m still asking it ten years later.
    When you’re blessed with such good people for parents – as you were with your dad – it really is hard to think about going on; To know that now you have to make decisions without their wise input. That you can no longer just pick up the phone to chat for a few minutes. I share that missing of a daddy with you, my friend.
    Lifting you up in prayer to the Lord, Liz. Hugs and love.

    Liked by 1 person

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