The gift of being his daughter

Dear Dad,

You have left us so suddenly and unexpectedly that I can hardly catch my breath. Mom called and told me your heart had stopped and now it feels as though mine will never beat the way it should again. Why dad? What could possibly make you think that we would be okay here without you?

I asked you that question when I went to the abandoned parking lot to talk to you. I heard you tell me, as you have on so many different occasions,

"Lori, sweetheart, you'll figure it out. I know you can do it."

It's just that I don't want to do it without you. I need you, dad.

People tell me -and I too know it to be true- that you will be with us. That we wont have to do it alone. Only right now, I ache, literally ache, for your touch. For your hug or the way you would squeeze my arm when you could no longer squeeze my hand. Am I weak to want your physical presence when I can feel you close by?

There are a few things I need you to know, dad. I wish we could skype one more time so I could look into your eyes and tell you how proud I am of you. You never, ever stopped trying to improve yourself. In every way.

You were the most physically fit person I've ever known. I've never know you not to be up before everyone else and exercising. You just got more physically active as you aged. Your son-in-law was a little intimidated when he first saw you without a shirt and discovered that you had muscles he had only ever dreamed of having. And you took the advice to "eat your greens" to a whole new level. You ate them raw, blended, chopped, baked and sauteed. After you had tilled, planted, tended and harvested them, of course. I was planning to plant raspberries this spring with your help. Rasberries are a little tempermental I'm told. Yours were the most well behaved, beautiful, delicious raspberries on the planet. Now what am I going to do?

You were always improving your mind. You read, and read, and read. Your voracious appetite for learning and studying sometimes left the more simple-minded of us struggling to catch up. I'll never forget when Jordan and I were dating and you wanted to let him know of your gratitude for "taking on your daughter." You told him you thought he was 'magnaminous'. He looked at me like he wasn't sure if he had just been complemented or berated. Jordan learned quickly,though, that you thought the world of him. The feeling was mutual. Jordan loved you,dad. But I think you knew that. He has lost his favorite golf and tennis partner.

You committed to improving every one of your relationships. You told each of us often that you loved us and were proud of us. But beyond that-you showed us. You were the first to notice a need (sometimes before we even noticed it ourselves) and the first to make every attempt at meeting that need. From folding Jodi's laundry to cleaning out my garages, to working in Kelli's yard, to being an untiring tennis parter to Erick-even when that meant heading out late at night when all you wanted to do was to go to bed-we knew we could always count on you. And the best part-we never felt like we had to qualify for it or meet a list of requirements before we were eligible for your love and service. It truely felt unconditional.

But the relationship you worked most on enhancing and improving was with your Savior and our Father in Heaven. Your heart became more and more moldable and tender as you opened it further and further to the Lord's will. I have watched you serve in every capacity willingly and determinedly. And then to offer up your life in His service as a full time missionary in Washington DC at the stage of life where you could finally sit back, relax, and spend some uninterrupted time on the golf course, speaks volumes to us as to what your priorities were. There are moments when I selfishly wish that I had not had to share you with the missionaries and marines in DC the last 2 1/2 months of your life, but I know that you were fulfilling a life long dream and were unbelievably happy. I would never wish to take that away from you.

You showed us what it means to "endure to the end." Only the end came too soon for me. There is still so much I wanted to share and so much I had to learn from your wisdom.

I want you to be proud of me. I want to be worthy to be called your daughter. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that I had 43 years to call you "dad." It is a gift I don't deserve.

I love you with all of my broken heart.

Your daughter,

Lori

Douglas Edward Plummer

1945-2012