My Dad taught me to drive. 

In fact, when I was a little kid, unable to reach the peddles, but eager to get behind the wheel, my Dad would let me scoot next to him and “drive” home from Sunday school.  I thought I was steering the car, but I think back now and chuckle at the thought.  He always had a hand on the wheel, but was smart enough to hide that fact from his little girl who thought it was so cool to drive home.

 It was a Dad/daughter moment I will always remember.

I think about it  because the daughter of a friend of mine had one of those “rite of passage” moments today.  She passed her drivers test and is the proud holder of a provisional license.  It’s a big deal for a teenager.  Her Mom got her a little cake to mark the day, I got her balloons, but she’s missing one very special participant on this special day.   Her Dad isn’t around to celebrate  because leukemia took his life a little more than a year ago. When he was battling his cancer and the after-effects of a bone marrow transplant, he would talk about the big  “life”moments he would miss if things did not go well.  His daughters’ driving was on the list.  In fact he would half-laugh/half-cringe at the thought!  A typical way for a parent to acknowledge that their child is growing-up, but the thought of her driving scared the heck out of him!

It’s just wrong that cancer stole this moment.  These are the times when the loss tightens-up and squeezes the heart. 

He would be so proud today.

 

 

 

 

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