My Dad - Lost Love by Dianne Hartsock
Thank you so much, Kai, for inviting me back to your delightful blog. Hasn’t this been a wonderful month? Being a floral designer as well as a romance writer, my Valentine’s Day preparations began in mid-January and I’m only now putting the last glittery hearts away.
But I’m almost sorry to see it come to an end. This month of romance isn’t only for lovers. It’s also for family and friends. It’s a time that reminds me of all the people I get to love in my life.
It also brings to mind those I’ve lost but keep close to my heart. I’d like to talk about my Dad today. He’s been gone over sixteen years now, but I miss him as if we lost him only yesterday.
So many good memories! But my most favorite ones are from the years before I turned ten. We lived in the ‘pink house’ then, probably one of the best places for a kid to grow up. It was a large house with a back staircase and a big backyard. And even better, it was haunted, but that’s another story!
In this house, the front door opens into a good sized foyer. There are double doors on each side, and a wide staircase straight ahead. Tall narrow windows flank the doorway.
Every evening for as far back as I can remember, me and my younger brothers would gather on those stairs at 4:45p.m. The setting sun shown through the windows, creating rainbows on the wall beside us. It was always warm there. Dust specs danced in the golden light shining in. I still remember the feeling of a held breath and anticipation.
The door would rattle then open. Dad’s familiar whistle rang through the house seconds before he’d walk across the threshold. Dad was home! The sense of security and blanket of love that came with him was amazing. Everything was right with the world because he was there.
This memory still makes me smile and I’ve always tried to bring this same sense of peace and love to my home as well.
This brings me to my second favorite memory of my Dad. I’ve always been a writer, though not a successful one until last year. But in all the years since I moved away from home, whenever I talked to my Dad on the phone, the very first thing he’d ask was how my writing was coming along. Such a motivator for me! Even when I lost faith in myself, he never stopped believing in me. That gave me the freedom to believe in myself and to keep trying. How could I give up when he never gave up on me?
If you can’t tell yet, my Dad has been a great influence on my life. He taught me the value of good work ethics and dependability and honesty and love. Not in that order, mind! And in this month of love I wanted to share these beautiful memories I have and to thank Dad for being a person I admire and respect. He guides my steps more than I think he realized.
Okay, I’m getting all mushy! Thanks so much for listening and feel free to visit me any time.
Dianne lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.
She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write her tales. There’s something about being cooped up in the house while it pours rain outside and a fire crackles on the hearth inside that kindles her imagination.