Feathers from My Father

There are many people who consider their fathers to be exceptional human beings.  I happen to be one of them.  When my father passed away almost a decade ago, it left a void that has never been filled but he found a way to let me know he would always be with me.

My father had a tough life, as did many people who lived through the depression and the two major wars of the early 20^th century.  His mother and father arrived here from Italy in the early 1900s with all of the hopes and dreams that immigrants of that time brought with them to this country.  As a young man he joined the Navy and was soon off to sea to serve his country during WWII.  After the war, he returned home to live with his parents.  It was soon after that his father died, and a few years later his mother also passed.  He remained a bachelor for quite some time but when he met my mother he was smitten and they married soon thereafter.  They had three children, with me being the last.  Our life was idyllic, until my younger brother died at the age of six.  Devastated and overcome with grief, my parents’ marriage fell apart and they separated less than a year after my brother’s death.  These major traumas also took a toll on my mother and she too was taken from us a year and a half later.  Needless to say, my world fell apart.  I was shipped off to live with my aunt and my other brother moved in with another relative.  My father felt that he couldn’t take care of us and work all of the jobs he needed to pay off the two funerals; but less than five years later my father came to reclaim me.  Life was good.  I was back with my dad.

When I told him I was getting married at the age of 18, he was skeptical, but gave us his blessing because he knew I had found, as he put it, “a good man.”  Then, in year I got married, my older brother was killed in a motorcycle accident and my uncle (my dad’s younger brother) also died.  I wondered how my father could withstand all of this loss; but he lived for me and gave me all of his love.  I can only imagine the pain he endured.  He lost his father, his mother, his younger brother, his wife, and both of his sons.  I was all he had and he loved me more than anything.  I was daddy’s little girl.  All of this loss was the foundation for a strong bond between us and I couldn’t imagine life without him.

Every Christmas, as we sat down for our holiday dinner, I would say a little prayer of thanks that my dad was still with me.  I worried as the years passed that each Christmas would be my last one with him.  When his health began to fail and constant trips to the cardiologist signaled to me that our time together was coming to a close, I feared the moment I knew was coming; and before I knew it, the ambulance was there and he was being taken to the hospital for the last time.  It was a week before Christmas.

As my father lay dying, my friend who used to be a hospital chaplain, stopped by to give me comfort.  He told me that I would have to let my father go.  My dad, who had lived his life for me, was now holding on for me and it was up to me to free him from this earth.  I cried as the carolers moved from room to room singing to cheer the patients and their families.  It did not bring me any joy however, because my daddy would no longer be there for Christmas dinner.

On the day he passed, I remember feeling utterly devastated.  My daddy was gone.  I wondered, “Dad…what am I going to do without you?  I talked to you every day.  How will I know you are there?” It was at that moment that I heard the words, “You’ll know when you see the white feathers.”  Puzzled, I didn’t know if it was just my inner voice attempting to bring solace or a real message from my dad wherever he was.  Time would tell.

Soon white feathers began turning up everywhere. On one particularly difficult day, I yearned to hear his voice so my husband pulled out a video from a prior Christmas and we all sat down to watch it.  As we sat there together, I look down at my side and there was a big, beautiful white feather.  There was also feather under the Christmas tree the following year and a feather on the stairs on my birthday.  Throughout the years here have been multiple times when I’m feeling down or missing my dad when I look down and there’s a feather.  I sometimes wondered if it might have been my husband or daughter planting the feathers but that explanation did not fit.  Almost every time one appears, there is no one else around and the feathers are so large and unusual that it would be virtually impossible to find them and stage them at just the right moments.   Each one is unique and I keep those feathers in a beautiful wooden box on my dresser.  As new ones arrive, I add them to my collection.  They are truly gifts from heaven and I have no doubt that these feathers from my father are his way of letting me know he’s still there.

Happy Father’s Day Daddy.

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