A Tribute To My Daddy

In Loving Memory of my Daddy,
George Franklin Cook

September 26, 1923-December 19, 2004

Dear Daddy,

Some days it seems like you've only been gone a little while, and others it seems like you've been gone for much longer than the almost 2 years it's been since God called you home to Heaven. Some things are much the same as when you left, and many things have changed beyond what either of us could have imagined. I'll bet you were impatiently waiting for Mama to join you, which she did on April 13, 2005.

I want to thank you, Daddy, for the raising that you gave me and the rest of the girls. I know you drank when they were growing up and when Cecil and I were young, but when you laid it down it was for good. Our happiest times together as a family were after you quit drinking. Thank you for loving Mama and us more than the alcohol. I know it was hard to give it up.

Thank you for going into that hell-hole of a factory every day for over 40 years, putting food on our table and clothes on our backs. Thank you for doing without things you needed so we could have things we wanted. The child didn't understand what you sacrificed at the time, but the adult Mama understands now. Thank you for working when you didn't feel like it because missing a day of work meant doing without something we needed.

Thank you for letting me be a tomboy. The days I spent fishing with you, working on cars, cutting wood, hunting, taking care of the hogs and calves, just driving around and piddling....I wouldn't take a million dollars for those times and those memories. Thank you for showing me that hard work didn't hurt me, and in fact made me stronger. It's made me a better person, I think.

You were too rough on me sometimes, and you knew it. I think you regretted that a little as we both grew older. We were both hard headed and stubborn as a mule, and we clashed sometimes. I remember you apologizing to me one time in my life, and that was after I'd been married for 4 years. You knew you were wrong, and it took you from Mother's Day of that year to Thanksgiving to come to me and apologize. It was so hard for you to admit you were wrong. About the only emotion you showed freely was anger. I was an adult before I understood that you were raised not to show your emotions. It was considered unmanly, I guess. I can only remember you telling me you loved me one time in my life, and that was when you knew you were dying. Any time one of us girls would say, "Daddy, I love you," you'd just say, "Yep, " or something to that effect. It was just too hard for you to say the words, although I knew you loved me.

When Ducky's husband, Jerry, died in 1998 it hurt you so much. He was like a son to you. You and Jerry and Sue's husband, Charles were always hunting, fishing and working on cars together, among other things. Seeing Jerry slipping away a little more every day was almost more than you could bear. It was so hard on all of us, and I know you were never the same after.

You had a special relationship with all of us. All of us have our memories. I remember the time when Cecil and I were about 4 and 5, and you said that Santy Claus had been to our house on Christmas morning. You had went outside and dragged your feet in the snow to make it look like Santa's sleigh had landed in the yard. You liked to get a fight started by teasing the kids and grandkids that Santa wasn't coming that particular Christmas. He had been shot down, and it was a different place every year. When Cecil and I got old enough to ask you what you wanted for Christmas, you always said that the only thing you wanted was for all of us kids to be healthy and at home with you and Mama for Christmas. You never asked for anything for yourself.

You had a unique snickering, wheezing, snorting laugh. Some of my happiest memories are from holidays and Sundays at home with you and Mama and all the family, eating and laughing. Lots of eating and laughing. You couldn't hear yourself think over all the laughing and talking, but what joy just in being together. Such simple times, not even realizing what precious memories we were making.

As with all things, those times have passed, never to be again, except in our photographs and our memories. First Jerry was gone, then you and then Mama. Sooner or later, one by one, we must all make a divine appointment with our Maker. Although you were saved late in life, you were faithful to your church as long as your health allowed you to go. Thank you for taking me to church, Daddy. I'm so thankful you were saved so I know that you'll be in Heaven with Mama when I get there. There are some in the family who can't say that, and my dearest hope is that they'll be saved before it's too late. Wouldn't that be the grandest thing, after meeting Jesus, to have a great homecoming in Heaven with all the family there, just like it was back then, only better?

Daddy, I think about you and I miss you every day. Oh, I don't sit and dwell on you being gone all the time, and I know you wouldn't want me to stay sad. When I cry, they're tears because I miss you, not tears of grief. When any of us girls and our families get together, our conversations always turn to our happy memories. We think of the good times we had together, and I am so thankful for those times.

I love you, Daddy. Happy Birthday.

Joe