My dad's name is Chris. Chris was born in the late 60s to a mom and a dad, with one older sister and a twin brother. Chris loved his life. He grew up playing football every lazy summer day in the church field with his buddies, swimming in the community pool, hitchhiking up Big Cottonwood Canyon to ski, and teasing his buddies about virtually everything. Time passed, lives became longer, and Chris slowly but surely became older. He found a passion for football and baseball, eventually becoming a catcher on a college team. He found a passion for his religion, and served an LDS mission in Switzerland when he was a year older than I am right now. After two years, he came home and found a passion for the woman that would eventually become my mom. He proposed to her in a church parking lot during a snowstorm, and then they did doughnuts in the freshly fallen precipitation to celebrate the foundations of their budding life together. Chris married Marci, and that is when I became more than just a thought. I became a possibility.
Fast forward two, maybe two and a half years. My mom is laying in a hospital bed, a relieved yet exhausted smile on her face. I can just imagine her, her short black hair pulled to the top of her head, her body tiny once again, the strains of having a baby evident on her tear soaked face. She's tired. She's in awe. She's something that she has never been before. She is delicate and fragile and mighty- a combination that can only be found in newly created mothers. She looks quietly up at her partner in crime and creation, her sweet Chris. He's sitting in the rocking chair next to the bed. It's silent, besides the creak of the chair and the rhythm of the three people, breathing in unison for the first time. Yes, the three people. Sammy is there too, swaddled up tight in her daddy's lap. He cautiously holds her, every move hesitant and unsure- not because it's not what he wants- quite the contrary. He's just never felt anything like this before- having a soul rely on him so completely, the anxiety countered by finding a love that he never realized existed, a love strong enough to erase all doubts. As he holds this newly created person, he also becomes new. As he watches this little human become aware of her surroundings for the first time, he also gains a a fresh and entirely different perspective. She breathes, he breathes. She cries, and he tears up just a little bit more. They quietly trust each other, without even understanding the difference. And with that, Chris gained a best friend.
My dad and I had a daily ritual when I was a little girl. He would go to work in the earliest hours of the morning, and a few hours later, I would wake up and hang out with mom. He sold his ties, I donned my pretty pink princess dress and did dance routines with mommy. He had his meetings, I helped mom with the dishes or cleaning my room or singing her songs. He came home, and I ran to the door to greet him with kisses. And then, my favorite part of the day began. We had a bench that had no dining table to accompany it. Just a lone bench, sitting in the corner of our kitchen. And to me, that bench had one main purpose. Special hugs. I would hop up on the bench so that I could grow a bit taller-to reach my daddy better, of course. He would come over, smile a bit, and say "Is it time for the special hug, Sammy?" I would say yes! Of course it is time! He then would hug me, rock me back and forth, and sing our special hug song. "Special hug. Special hug. Special, special, special hug." I would giggle and laugh and beg to do it again. Sometimes we would. Sometimes we would save the specialness for tomorrow. Either way, though, I knew at that moment that I was safe. I was untouchable. I was happy in my princess dresses and leotards, dancing with my mommy and hugging my daddy hello. My heart was swollen and overflowing. My life, in essence, was as good as it could get.
There won't be a nice, neat, closing paragraph, with five to seven well proportioned and flowing sentences. Not with this story. It hasn't ended yet, so how can you compose a grammatically acceptable conclusion for something that simply cannot be closed? Chris is still my best friend. We may be a bit too old for special hugs now a days, but we still chat. I make him Belgian waffles even when he swears that he can't eat crap like that anymore, and you know what? He eats them. I come home late on a Saturday night and he shakes his finger at me for a bit, and then we watch Duck Dynasty together. He tells me that I don't help out enough around the house, and then when I get around to doing the dishes, he dries the plates and talks to me about BYU. We're buddies, we're pals, we're best friends, he's my daddy and I've come to realize that I'll never stop being his baby girl. Love you, Chris. Let's go get sushi soon.
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| In his natural habitat. Eating cookies. |
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| Graduation pictures. They just keep popping up! |
