Spirit Matters: Watching for Dad to return from work

NOTE: As Father’s Day approaches this Sunday, I have remembered a column that was first published in August 2015, that seems appropriate for the occasion. If you are lucky enough to still have your dad with you this weekend, would you please give him a big hug? If not for you, for me.

Last week, my niece Millie — she’s a yellow Labrador — was staying at our house until her dad got off of his afternoon shift at Owens in Streator.

Around 10:15 one night, the time my brother usually comes to pick her up, she started pacing and looking out the back door, waiting for his car to pull in the driveway. I happened to be up with her because my dog, Zeke had just had a barking fit for no good reason — something not unusual for him.

As I waited with Millie for her dad to pick her up, I couldn’t help but think back to the afternoons I sat on the sidewalk under one of the towering maple trees in our front yard and anxiously watched for my dad to come walking down the road at 3:40 p.m., after he got off work.

I would sit on the cracked concrete and doodle in the dirt with sticks as each minute seemed like an eternity for him to appear at the end of the road.

Sometimes, I would even walk our schnauzer Pepper to the end of the block and meet Dad there, so we could walk the half-block back home together.

I don’t know what it is about a father-daughter relationship, but I know I was one of the lucky ones.

When we were growing up, Dad didn’t say much to us. Although he could laugh and tell jokes with the best of them, he had a definite introverted nature. Plus, I’m sure the pressures of working in a factory and raising six children weren’t easy. And when he got home, he just wanted a little peace and quiet, obviously a rarity in our house.

Still, for some reason, Dad and I always just “got” each other. I was born just over three hours short of his 30th birthday, so our birthdays were an annual shared celebration. And as I grew older, he became one of my best friends. It may sound weird, but it’s true. Don’t tell my mom this, but I get now how your parents always, always have your back, no matter how much grief you have given them over the years.

These days, much has changed. The sidewalk, the tree and Dad are all gone, at least in bodily form. Still, I look out in the front yard and echoes of my childhood whisper in the wind as their spirits remain alive and well.

Now, in my limited human physical form, I drive to see Dad at St. Stephen’s cemetery in Streator. I don’t get out there as much as I like, but I’ve come to realize he’s not really there anyway. Still, I like to stop by and check in once in a while. I still need to do that. Last Christmas, I even started the ritual of leaving him one of his favorites — a Snickers candy bar — on his grave. I’m sure he appreciated it as much as anything.

Who knows?

Maybe Dad is sitting on a sidewalk somewhere in the sky and doodling in the clouds — or maybe, he is much closer than that, like, out in the front yard — waiting for me and the rest of my family to come Home from work one last time.

• SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column that examines spirituality. Contact Jerrilyn Zavada at jzblue33@yahoo.com to share how you engage your spirit in your life and in your community.