Homer enters the stage!

Dinner with his dad wouldn’t happen until after we were married.  His father (Homer) lived with Mark’s grandfather (also named Homer) in Florida when we first met.  (I am VERY glad they didn’t carry on the naming tradition!!)  At that time, Mark’s father was recovering from open-heart surgery and separated from his wife. Once when outside by the baseball field near my parent’s house, Mark and I were holding hands, strolling along, and just chatting about stuff.  I often think that when Mark became paralyzed that our times walking together was what I missed most of all.  The memories of him holding my hand and my constant teasing about his feet pointing out and my toes pointing in, left a pattern on the walkway and my heart.  I approached the subject of his father and asked if he was worried about losing him because he was so sick.  I was 19 years old and my dad was such an integral part in my life that I didn’t think I could breathe without him.  So, I wondered.  Was he devastated that his dad was having heart surgery in a hospital in a different state?  He stopped walking, looked at me and said “I have only known you for a couple months and at this point, if your dad died, I would be more devastated than if my own father died.”  If I could put into these typed words how I felt when I heard that, I would.  The shock, sadness, disbelief and overwhelming sorrow for this fabulous guy, was too much to put into words.  I don’t even remember what I said, except “Why?”  Mark told me that his dad had a problem with drinking too much.  He told of one episode growing up and what happened afterwards.  I won’t share it here, but I know the rest of our walk was silent.  Once again, I began to see what I had in my life as a gift.  Who knew that this family of mine, with the constant noise, one bathroom, one car, and one pound of pasta to feed a gaggle of people would be an astounding gift. After convincing Mark to invite his dad to our wedding, the rest of their time together was really fun for Mark.  His mom and dad got back together.  The guys went camping in the Adirondacks, joined a pitch card league, and talked endlessly about hunting and shotguns and boy stuff.  It was a fabulous time of healing and hope for all of them.  Mark’s dad passed away before any of our children were born at age 52.  I have a story or two about Homer Searle that I will be sharing eventually, but just like Mark, I learned to love his dad.  Today we ponder…what is the hidden blessing?  It’s something so mundane and so ‘normal’ and probably annoying, that you don’t even think about it day after day, but it’s the true blessing.  The next story just may be about the demise of a certain cowboy hat!  Stay tuned…