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     Shortly after the election I interviewed Michael Reagan, son of President Reagan, so that I could write of his thoughts on the latest headlines.  This is not that story.  Our conversation took a turn and so did life.  This is another story. 

     Michael Reagan and I have something in common—fathers who suffered from Alzheimer’s.   When I arrived at our meeting I had just come from seeing my father and I shared with Michael that I often hear his voice in my head during those visits.  A few years ago I saw him on television discussing his visits with President Reagan and he said, “What is important is that he knows I’m the guy who gives him hugs.”  That stuck with me.  Yes, I thought, that is what is important.

     As this cruel disease stole away my father’s ability to tell jokes, sing his favorite songs, and form his thoughts, simple things became more precious by the day.  The always happy Irish storyteller kept the gleam in his eyes, the easy smile on his face and a warm hug ready. 

     When I was a little girl I waited by the door every day for my daddy to come home from the factory.  I would light up when he came in and gave me a big hug.  Every day he hugged me, told me he loved me, and told me I was smart and pretty.   In recent years we changed roles and he would wait for me each night as I would stop to see him on my way home from work.  He still hugged me, told me he loved me and told me I was pretty.  This was quite a gift, because these were about the only phrases he was still able to say and I was the only person he still seemed to know.

     When life is condensed to this very simple level it becomes much clearer.  I always learned what was important from my father, but never more so than in his final days. 

     My father wasn’t “successful” in the world’s eyes.  He wasn’t rich; he wasn’t famous; he did not win awards; and no one wrote stories about him…until now.  But my father was successful because he knew what was important.

     My father considered it part of life’s duties to be a good husband, son, father, friend, citizen and man.  He didn’t talk about it; he lived it. 

     His word was his bond and his handshake golden.  In over 30 years of work at a GM factory he only called in sick twice, both while in the hospital. I learned to be honest by watching him drive 40 miles round trip to take care of a $20 restaurant bill he forgot to pay.

     Anyone who knew him and even those who didn’t know him could count on him.  When I was a child he ran out onto a frozen lake to try to save a man whose car had gone down the icy hill into the lake.  He didn’t know the man, or know that the man was trying to commit suicide.  My father was starting to sink with the car when he saw the man lock the door and motion him away.  I’ll never forget my father’s devastation over the fact that he couldn’t save the stranger.  

     When I entered the factory to work my way through college my dad had already retired, but his good name followed me.  Management and union workers respected and loved him.  When folks shared stories about him, I learned that he had a reputation for being fun, good hearted, hard working and fair. In short, he was the same man at work that he was at home.

     He loved people and his smile showed it.  He constantly smiled—at everyone.  He could light up the day of a sales clerk with a smile and a joke. As he lost his ability to speak in recent months, he seemed intent on cheering up his caregivers, who always made comments about his beautiful smile.    

     He cherished his family.  A few years after my mother passed away I heard someone ask my father why he wasn’t interested in remarrying.  He answered, “Once you’ve had the best, you don’t settle for less.”  Every day of my childhood I had the gift of knowing that my father deeply loved my mother. 

     His children were blessed with a father who freely and constantly expressed his love with kind words, hugs, patience, and time together.  Perhaps more “successful” fathers taught their children the ins and outs of the stock market or how to make a buck, but I am thankful that he taught me simple things that built my confidence.   He taught me that if I wanted to eat fish, I had to learn how bait a hook, and catch and gut a fish.  I’m grateful he thought it was important to buy his daughter a football and teach her how to throw a perfect spiral.  I appreciate that when I announced that I would be the first person in our family to attend college he reacted by smiling and telling me I was smart and could do anything, rather than wondering aloud how we would pay for it.

        His faith was simple and quiet.  Someone asked him why he was always happy and he answered, “Every night when I go to bed I count my blessings. I have a wonderful family and good friends.”    

     In his last moments here on earth we still had what is important.  At his bedside, I thanked him for being a wonderful husband, father and man. I told him I loved him and hugged him until he slipped into God’s arms. 

     Since his passing, I haven’t been quite as caught up in the latest troubling headlines.  It seems like a good time to focus on what is important. I’m counting my blessings and praying for a New Year that is as successful as the life of Keith Stillwagon, one rich in the blessings of family, love, faith and hugs.  

     Maybe you know someone who needs to be reminded that they are successful no matter what happens to their job, their savings or their house. Maybe that someone is you.  May God bless you this New Year with all that is truly important.   

Lori, a very heartfelt excellent account of your childhood and how great your Dad was! Your message will carry with me, as I try to always know that I am successful in my own way, passed down to me from my Dad & Mom as well. God bless you, and thanks.

>> Michael Brady

Thursday, December 18, 2008, 2:57 pm

What a beautiful tribute to your father! Thank you for blessing us this Christmas with your story. He is looking down on you this very moment, telling Jesus how much he loves you and how smart and pretty you are. God bless you, Lori.

>> Ron Miller

Thursday, December 18, 2008, 4:14 pm

Shalom, Lori ~ Our fathers of faith firm our foundations. Our faith fathers do not have to be an Avraham, Yitz'chak, Ya'akov or Yosef. But they do have to be faith fathers who are faithful to firm foundations for their children and children's children. Deuteronomy 6:4-9, the Shema, you perhaps know as the Greatest Commandment, is the Cental Command of all Scripture Scrolls. I discern in your heart-felt prose, you have learned and internalized that eternal Truth because of your determined Dad. You, his smart and pretty daughter, have celebrated his life with joy. Your willingness to share your heart, head and hands with the "regular folk" brings a great light to all of us during this Season Festival of Lights. The Light shines in the darkness and brings hope eternal! GOD's Blessings on you and your family as you continue to honor Dad, a faith and faithful father. Love and Prayers, Rabbi DF Eukel, talkhost of "Ask the Rabbi" on Blog Talk Radio.

>> Rabbi Eukel

Thursday, December 18, 2008, 6:32 pm

Dear Rabbi, Ron and Michael, thank you for your kind words. And yes, Rabbi, it was easy to come to know and love my Heavenly Father because I experienced unconditional love through my earthly father. Deuteronomy 6:5 has been underlined in my Bible for many years. I will also share with you the rest of the story. I was alone with him in the room when he passed away. After he took his last breath, I kept hugging him, and I looked up to God and, weeping, praised Him and rejoiced and thanked Him for allowing me to be with my father at the end and for blessing me with a kind and wonderful father. As I ended my prayer the bright orange light of a brilliant sunrise burst through the window and I rejoiced in God's goodness.

>> Lori Roman

Thursday, December 18, 2008, 8:30 pm

I am new to this site and was kind of wondering what it was like. Now I know, Thank you Lori and may God bless and keep you. Robert Butler

>> RButler

Friday, December 19, 2008, 12:27 am

Lori all I have to say is your Dad is surely proud of his daughter Lori. A wonderful and touching tribute you have written to him. May God Bless you and yours at this time of the year.

>> jackjr60

Tuesday, December 23, 2008, 10:37 pm