ForgottenWoman

October 30, 2026

You know, I’ve never been one to be quiet when the anniversaries of hard things roll around every year, but this year, I have had a challenging time finding the words to share on what would have been my father’s 85th birthday. So, here I am a day late and a few dollars short as they say, but having a heart and mind full of thoughts that I really want to put into words.

One thing that I’ve learned over the years is that when sharing publicly as I do, it isn’t something that is just for me. So often, I hear from people who are helped in some way. So many have faced grief of all sorts – grief that sits heavy and is never validated. Connecting with others through shared grief lifts a bit of the heaviness and allows us to find comfort in some way. We are also helped when we encourage one another to focus on the good things, the good memories with grateful hearts that we have loved deeply enough to feel the grief on a deep level.

So, today as I share my thoughts I want to express that I know that while this is about my own father, many of you can relate. You feel similar emotions on your own anniversary dates and I hope in some way, it eases your pain and encourages you on your own journey.

October 30 is my father’s birthday. The thought of him turning 85 is unimaginable to me since he was just 48 when he passed away. From 45-48 as he suffered with terminal illness, I watched him waste away physically while never losing his inner strength. I have small wooden crafts that he carved and painted for me during those years. The two antique tables that I refuse to get rid of were my mother-in-law’s pieces that she gave to me when I married Jonnie and my father spent hours in his garage refinishing them for me. You may not notice their beauty when you visit my home, but I treasure them for that very reason. I have a framed letter from my dad that he wrote during those years of illness, as well as a letter that he wrote me when I was away at college. Both of them are precious to me because he took the time to put into writing that he loved me and was proud of me.

Jonnie passed away 6 months before my father’s diagnosis and it was on the very night that my dad and I drove from Virginia to Charlotte with all of my earthly goods and my two little boys that he entered the hospital and was told the next day that he was terminal. What I’ll never forget about that night was getting into my little red car and driving around the corner and walking up and down the aisles of the grocery store looking into the faces of each person I passed. There were two thoughts racing through my mind. “Joy, you don’t have any idea what’s going on in each of these stranger’s lives. You’ve just lost your husband, had to move your little family and now your dad is dying. That lady you just passed may be going through something even worse!” The second thought was, “Ok. I became a widow at 23. My mom is going to become a widow in her 40s. I’m here to help her and dad – at a time when everyone thought I was moving here so they could help me!”

After a few minutes of absorbing those thoughts, I went back to my little house that was full of moving boxes and my boys (my brother had stayed with them while I drove around) and I determined to focus on being who those little boys and my mom and dad needed me to be. There was no time for moping around or feeling sorry for myself. What am I grateful for today when I think of the next three years? I’m thankful that we were there, that Dad could call and ask me to bring the boys over when he was lonely, that I could go over and mow his grass each week while he sat in the hammock and laughed with those little boys. I’m thankful that they have memories of the rides on the side of his hospital bed. I’m thankful that they have memories of playing Duck Hunt and whatever else those early games were. I’m thankful that I could take his money and list and go jewelry shopping for my mom for him for each special day. I’m thankful that when I bought him a book on heaven, we sat and talked about it – and he promised to find Jonnie when he got there and tell him that we were ok. Basically, I’m thankful that my father and I were able to talk about the realities, he was able to laugh and smile and tell me that he had been blessed with a good life and he wasn’t afraid of dying. The very morning before his final breath, he held my hand and talked to me about what he had done to insure that Mom would be ok, told me that he wanted Joey to sing, “How Can I Fear” at his service and for me to play “How Great Thou Art.” That last conversation will be forever implanted in my mind.

But there were things that defined my father that I want to share today. You know, we honor those deserving of honor by talking about who they were, and we carry on their legacies by emulating those things that made them impactful in our lives. My dad wasn’t a lecturer, wasn’t a public speaker except for when he was teaching accounting in a work situation. He didn’t sit us down every night and ‘preach’ to us. My dad was one who lived a faithful life in front of us. He lived the ultimate example of the servant leader where my mom was concerned. The rose gardens he planted at each of our homes was tended and cared for by him and when they were blooming, he would leave a single rose with a prepared cup of coffee for her on the bedside table each morning. He took care of the yards and gardens throughout their marriage, faithfully maintained the homes and I can honestly say that I don’t remember him ever complaining about any of it. He loved her with his actions and we witnessed it day in and day out. Dad’s work required long hours (especially during tax season) and his work meant that he traveled quite a bit – but when he was home, he was present with us.

When I began babysitting for others and/or dating in high school, he was always sitting alone in his chair when I returned safely home. He would make sure I was ok and then he would go on to bed. I say my dad didn’t lecture, but he said just enough to let us know that he valued us, who we were and whatever our gifts were. I sit this morning and laugh as I remember that when I would be practicing my piano, my dad would sneak a cassette tape recorder in the room and record my playing. When I was in a state competition my senior year in high school, I was complaining one night about how difficult the music was. I had learned to read music but I was better at playing what I could hear. When I mentioned that it would be helpful to hear the piece played, my dad went to the library and picked up a record of a master pianist playing the piece and brought it home for me to listen to over and over. Who would have thought to do that? My thoughtful dad! In our family, I was known as the quiet one, the shy one – but at home, I had that dry sense of humor and was always cracking what were truly stupid jokes. I can still hear my father’s laughter – it’s funny how something so simple validated me, who I was/am and gave me courage.

Yes, there’s more. I was a cheerleader in the era when cheerleading competitions were just beginning to be a thing. You know, when our role was really all about cheering the team on during the games – not creating our own programs but leading the fans in supporting the team; but then we had our own competitions separate from the ball games. My father never treated my cheering as a lesser thing than my brother’s football, baseketball or baseball games. He was there, watching me cheer, telling me that he was impressed with what we did and that he was proud of me. As a young girl and teen, that support told me that I, as an individual mattered to my dad – and therefore, I must matter period. Why do I share these things? Because in a day when many don’t seem quite sure what fatherhood is supposed to look like: I can tell you that this kind of faithfulness matters.

Safe… we talk today about safe spaces. My dad was definitely a ‘place’ where I felt safe. Just last week someone asked me about my ‘fear’ concerning my sons and their dirtbike shenanigans over the years. The truth is that I grew up riding on the back of my father’s motorcycles and my brothers’ dirtbikes until I was big enough to drive them on my own. We lived on the outskirts of Atlanta when I began hopping on the back of Dad’s bike every time he invited me to do so. We rode the interstate on that thing, as well as on the dirt roads dodging potholes and what looked like craters. I loved every minute of it. We even took a few spills and because I always trusted that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, I kept climbing back on. Looking back, I realize that it wasn’t a conscious thought, “I’m safe if Dad is driving!” It was just how it was – I knew I was safe with him.

Protector. When I think of my dad, this is one word that comes to mind immediately. When my dad was around, I was never afraid. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and even spiritually. I never had to fear what someone else would do to me if Dad was present, and my sensitivity to harsh words or mockery weren’t lost on him either. He was gentle with his correction with me and when I was afraid to go to camp because I was sure something would happen to him and mom if we kids were all gone, he never mocked my fear. Instead, he sat beside me and told me why they would be safe!

When he was leaving for work trips and I couldn’t contain my sobbing, he never ordered me to stop crying, but instead, took me in his arms and promised to call daily and to return home bearing gifts. (My little ‘fluffy’ dog is still packed away – after years of being that treasured gift after a two week stint in Chicago! I was 9 when he went on that trip). It’s pretty incredible to remember those specifics, isn’t it? That’s what it means for a little girl to be both physically and emotionally safe with her father. Oh, and let me tell you about this protector when his daughter is 23, widowed and living alone with her babies. There was a Sunday evening when I had arrived home from church with my babies in the back seat. Joey would have been not yet 3 and Josh was somewhere between one and two. When I pulled into my driveway, and stepped out of the car, I could see that a dark car had pulled in the driveway behind me with the lights off. I was already out of the car, so I picked Josh up in my arms and grabbed Joey’s hand and ran up the sidewalk, fumbling for my keys to get into the house. The dark car remained in the driveway. We got into the house and I made sure all the doors were locked. The back door was a sliding glass door with curtains. I put the boys in their beds and came back out to the living area where I heard someone trying to get in the glass doors. I ran back to the bedroom and got Jonnie’s rifle (at that time, I didn’t know how to load it and had never shot it!) I pulled the curtain back and showed the man the gun and dared him to keep trying to come in. He left.

I called my dad’s house and told him what had just happened. My parents home was about 20 minutes from ours. It wasn’t ten minutes later when I saw a car come flying through my front yard and up to the fence that ran up to those sliding glass doors. Dad used his car lights to make sure no one was still there. Then he parked and came to my door. Y’all, my father sat under my bedroom window with his own gun that entire night protecting me and my sons so that I could sleep. (And yes, he had left his hospital bed to do this). THIS is an example of my protector father.

Provider. My father took this role seriously and while providing for our family required long hours of work and many difficult work decisions, he never made us feel like we were burdens. My dad was a generous giver and while I’m sure he and Mom discussed the expenses of 4 kids in private school and then college, not once do I ever remember him indicating that he resented it or even telling us how much it cost him to take care of us. He was very aware of our needs even after marriage and often would sneak cash into my husband’s pocket and tell him to take me out to dinner or in one instance, he showed up at our home with a TV in hand because he knew we couldn’t afford one. I realize today the sacrifices he made for us – he drove a beaten up pickup truck until the day he died (you could see the highway through the floorboard). His work vehicle was never new or fancy, and as I stated before, he rode an inexpensive motorcycle to work in downtown Atlanta for several years to save on gas money. This he did even in the rain. Why? So that my mom had a nice car to drive and my teen brothers had transportation as well.

As I share these tidbits, I hope you get a glimpse of who this man was and how who he was impacted my life and continues to impact my life today. Grief is one of those things that never leaves but changes colors so to speak. On the night of his passing, I had never felt more alone before this point in my life! I stood feeling invisible and lost and as I drove my boys home later, I couldn’t imagine continuing on without his love, his support, his protection, his presence in my life. Obviously, all of these years later, I can say that out of necessity we did continue on but the foundation of his love, his support, his protection and his presence has been a main reason that I’ve been able to.

Today’s grief looks and feels different. All of yesterday I felt the reality of his absence on his birthday, but what I felt most was a sadness that 7 of my children never knew him and he never knew them. The sadness is the reality that none of my 9 children had his encouragement, his support, his presence through their teen years or now. How he would have loved each one of them and how they would have loved and benefited from his life being a part of theirs! He would have made sure that they knew that they mattered to him. He would have made sure that they felt like they were capable of what they were attempting. He would never have let any of us go unprotected from harsh words or the actions of others that harmed us. He wasn’t a big man, but you knew you better not mess with those of us who are his. When I talk to my kids or grandkids about him, I know that I’m not able to really express all that he was – and that makes me sad. BUT – and this is the thing… I hope and pray often that I am carrying on his legacy of love and support and presence by intentionally being here for each of them. He taught me that and that legacy lives on.

As you’ve read my ramblings, I hope you are encouraged to sit down and think of someone that you have had to say goodbye to in this life, someone whose investment in you lives on today through your own choices. The beauty of faith in Christ and the hope of eternal life means that one day my kids and grandkids will know my dad and one day I’ll have the joy of looking at him once again and saying, “Thank you, Dad! So much of who you were and what you brought to my life, I never properly appreciated or thanked you for!”

Happy birthday, Dad!