Daddy

He's been gone since February 5, 1983. But I can still hear his low, quiet voice, smell his Old Spice, and remember in detail his last moments of life on earth.

But before I go there, I want you to celebrate with me my Daddy.

That probably sounds odd to some of you reading this---a woman of my mature years (notice I did NOT say 'old') ---calling her father, 'Daddy'. Although we are not from the south/Bible belt region where that term of endearment is the norm, we always called him Daddy. Not sure why. I only know for a fact if any of us were to call him Father or even just Dad he would have looked at us with a puzzled expression and said "Well for cryin' out loud, WHO you talkin' to?!"

My earliest memory is one that would place me at about the age of 3, living in Niles, Michigan. We had finished ministering at the "Infirmary" aka the local convalescent home, and it was time to leave. I can recall pretending to be asleep while Daddy slung me on his shoulder and carried me out. Through the slits of my eyes I could see the people smiling at him and I...he seemed so tall! He was only 5'9"...maybe.

Another time I had just been drug out of a creek I fell into (another blog later!) and he was shaking his head and laughing at the same time. He brushed me off and said "You need a bath MJ!" I dissolved into tears but remember that feeling of ITS GONNA BE OK NOW, DADDY HAS YOU.

Flash forward to California, about 1958. Those were the days where kids remained in the sanctuary during the entire service...and parents were fully capable of hearing the pastor's message AND entertaining their children while teaching them reverence. (Did I really just say that? Yes, yes I did...) Anyhow, there I was plopped next to Daddy. Usually I liked sitting next to Mom 'cause she had things in her purse or Bible I could check out, sometimes even a loose peppermint! However, on this Sunday my little sister obviously had snagged the prime seat, so there I was.

He must have sensed my boredom (maybe his third NO at my request to go to the bathroom) as he pulled out his nicely folded and ironed white hanky. He rolled it up in a manner that eventually presented itself to look like two twin babies in a blanket, smiled and handed it to me. The look he gave me after the smile said "Don't bug me again kid!"

Another Sunday morning and it was just the two of us in service. Mom must have stayed home with my sister for a very good reason, as she NEVER missed church. All I knew was I felt special this day, sitting next to my Daddy all by ourselves on a Sunday morning at Anaheim Foursquare Church! We always sat in the row that was even with where the Nursery room ended and the side seats began. That's where the Markles sat. Every Sunday. And Wednesday nights.

So here we are...Daddy and MJ. Sermon was long of course (aren't they all when you're a kid?) and I grew bored. I knew asking for the potty run wasn't going to fly with him, so my loud sighing must have alerted him. But today it wasn't the hanky trick.

He reached into his inner coat pocket, and pulled out a tiny packet. He made big eyes at me as if to say "Wait til you try this!" A tiny square was placed in my hand, and I saw him place the same in his mouth. Then his eyes went straight back to the pulpit. So I did what he did, put it on my tongue and sat back in my pew.

First it was a pleasant black licorice flavor...but then the longer I kept it on my tongue, the HOTTER it became. Now in the Markle household, one did NOT waste! So yes, I held it in my mouth as long as I possibly could before choking it down. BLCCCK!!! I noticed my father looking at me with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face as he whispered "That was good wasn't it?" My Daddy had just done something he rarely gave himself the pleasure of doing...making a joke...and I, the honored one got to be a part of it!

I'm not sure if it was that same Sunday or not, but I also remember leaning into his chest, under his arm and pretending to fall asleep in that same pew. The scent of his polyester suitcoat and familiar Old Spice cologne was so comforting to me....physical displays of emotion not a common thing in our household, I held back from hugging him. Now I wish I would have.

As Daddy's life came to a close after a long fight with cancer, I was able to spend several days alone with him. We would talk about his new young pastor and how they sang together when he came to visit. Daddy had made some confessions to heal his heart of years of unworthiness he had carried as a believer....and he was like a kid telling me how free and happy he felt. This man who worked, came home to dinner, perhaps one tv show and then went to bed LIKE CLOCKWORK his entire life, was now talking my ear off! Sometimes the medication for pain would take him back in his mind to the days of his childhood and he would share stories with me about vaudeville shows, painting a barn and not being careful about the lantern, etc. Whether it was bits and pieces of reality and dreams mixed I don't know, but I can honestly say it was an incredible joy for this daughter to finally see into the man I called Daddy.

I can recall the 'knowing' that he was soon to be gone. My older sister and I stood on opposite sides of the hospital bed, crying mostly with relief for him from the pain at that moment. My mother was sitting in a chair, hugging a pillow and rocking while she wept silently. Daddy had been staring into the upper corner of the room for some time, occasionally smiling.

Then it happened. We just knew.

I laid my head on his chest to see if I could hear a heartbeat. None. Then I stood on tiptoe and looked into those china blue eyes for some sign...and all I saw was 'GONE.' Who we knew as Daddy was no longer there in that room.

And through our tears, we rejoiced because we knew exactly where he WAS.

A little extra note: at his Celebration Service, the Forest Lawn Chapel was packed and more than one accepted the invitation to live a life for Jesus Christ, just as E.J. Markle did.

What did I learn from my Daddy?

That a chocolate-dipped cone or ice milk from Thrifty's once in a great while can taste as good as Baskins Robbins...because you learn to appreciate a treat when its a rare sacrifice.

What God says, He means. Just like my Daddy. And they both had earned the right to say BECAUSE I SAID SO.

You don't have to be sanguine, loud, or in the forefront to be a leader. Just like Jesus, sometimes all it takes is a look to get your point across. It's not always what you say...perhaps its more about what you DON'T say. Like my Daddy.

No, he wasn't perfect. He broke my heart at times, unknowingly, but withheld himself nevertheless. He had NO idea what to do with an extrovert teenage girl, and at times wounded this daughter's fragile femininity. He wasn't sure how to shape his boy-child into a man, and offended we girls at the seemingly double standard our brother was allowed to enjoy. At times his interpretation of Christianity left an negative taste in our mouths for the church world.

But watching him lead a favorite hymn with his pitchy tenor voice, tears rolling down his cheeks; or observing the absolute adoration he had for his grandbabies...its those moments that I saw a God, Whom I feared in a reverential way, Who would do anything for the sake of love for those He called His own.....

....just like my Daddy.

To Those Who Miss Their Mom...

It's hard to believe that on this day 15 years ago, my Mom went home to be with Jesus. She had said so many times, including just days before on my last dinner date with her, "I just don't know why God still has me here...I'm done!" And she was....

Mom knew how to live simply.

No fancy three page recipes. You got the ingredients together, keep adding the seasonings until you like the flavor, and cook til tender. (Unless it was Sunday's pot roast and then it had to have just a little crispy, not-really-burnt outer layer! mmmm....)

Sewing items, as opposed to buying them, was to save money. Clothing, blankets, aprons, dish towels and hot pads were not for sale on etsy or craig's list....they were hand-sewn in a manner that allowed them to last through YEARS of use and laundering.

Music was a means to lighten the soul and energize the spirit. Harmony a must! I loved coming home from Centralia Elementary school, cheeks blazing hot from the walk and entering our modest home on Monroe Avenue. Mom would be sitting at the piano playing one of her favorite hymns, eyes closed and a big smile on her face. I'd try to sneak by, not wanting to disturb her intimate joy, but she'd call out 'Hey, MJ, come sit here and sing this with me!'

Animals were to be loved, but not worshiped. One of her favorite stories she could hardly relate to us without laughing so hard she cried, was when my puppy was unfortunately hit by a very big truck out in front of the house. My dad wasn't available to remove the remains, so Mom had to do it herself before we kids saw the reality of what 'was' our pet. She took a shovel out to the highway and scooped the dog up....well, this is where she loses it telling the story! It seems only "half" the dog came up and as she walked away she observed the other back "half" still lying peacefully on the highway. It was then she began laughing and RUNNING to scoop up the rest of what would have been a traumatic event for us, and placing it in a shallow grave in the yard.

At the same time, her insight and compassion for God's creatures rivaled Dr. Doolittle. Goldfish swam to her hand and lay still as she lifted them to the holding tank as she changed their bowl water. The family parakeet, who talked profusely and regularly beak-punched holes in our homework eventually faded with age, and suffered with a tumor. Although my mom adored this little companion immensely, she couldn't stand to see him hurting. With tears flowing down her face, she placed the near lifeless bird in a sock, and immersed it in a tub of warm water. I'm not sure what it was, but I know she was singing.

People were to be loved. It didn't matter if you were of a certain ethnicity or religion or age. If you were hurting, she would pray for you. If you were lonely, she'd talk to you. If you were doing something that she felt may bring you pain or punishment, you'd get a stern look and a "Byesie bye!" (That's Blanche language for KNOCK IT OFF IDIOT).

One thing she loved to do was be with those who were stepping into eternity. Sometimes it was a neighbor dying from a long endured illness; most often it was the Rest Home several blocks away. The directors would call for "Sister Blanche" to come be with a senior resident who was about to expire....and she would have the honor of holding their hand and their heart, as they would sing and pray until the last breath was taken. I have had this same privilege several times and it has been an incredibly humbling and holy event to witness.

Walking was a MUST. Not just because she didn't drive due to her eyesight. But because she loved it! If she was on a mission, lets say to get embroidery floss from the Sprouse Reitz and get back home before 4 to start dinner, then you better keep up! Wow, could she power walk! Then there were times in the cool of the evening, we'd go for a leisurely walk and she'd put out her index finger for me to hold onto. My little sister on one side, and me on the other. We'd stop to check out ant families, or just sing songs as we mosied along. I miss holding that finger.

She also told us often in her later years, "Oh my I'm so glad I kept walking and kept these old bones limber!" By the way, she had GORGEOUS legs right up to the end!

I'm thinking she had a deal with God as to when He'd take her home.

Not on Mother's Day as that would ruin it for her kids.

Not on May 23rd, as that was my Dad's birthday.

Not on May 27th, as that was their wedding anniversary. (They celebrated 44 years together before he beat her to heaven!)

Instead, it was May 22nd.

I'm having a really hard weekend emotionally, and I so wish I could drive over to Mom's and lay in her lap and let her pray and sing over me. According to all the scholars, it won't be long til Jesus returns....come soon Lord. I miss my Mom.