A Father's Day story

This is one of my favorite columns that Brian wrote about Elizabeth, and I thought it'd be nice to post here. He wrote it when she had turned one on Father's Day 2005.

He wrote it in The Post-Tribune on Father's Day as a letter to his father, who died when he was 11.

Many of our friends and relatives have already seen this, but others might enjoy reading it as well. It's very well-written and quite sweet.


Headline:A FATHER'S DEVELOPING BOND WITH BABY REVEALS
WHAT'S MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE
Byline: Brian C. Hedger, Post-Tribune copy editor
Column: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

Dear Pop: Happy Father's Day. I miss you.

Wherever you are, I hope it's warm and you're roaring down an open road in a '57 Pontiac, just like the one we were restoring.

Listen, Pop, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you
about. You have another grandchild. Her name is Elizabeth.

She has blond hair, fair skin and chubby cheeks.

She just turned 1, and has our blue eyes. Only hers are deeper
blue, like Lake Michigan on a cloudless, sun-soaked day.

Sometimes, when I look into them, I feel reconnected with you.

It's like you're right there, watching us develop our own special
bond. Are you really there, Pop?

Sure feels like it.

You never forget your father's presence, even after years apart.

It's almost like when Elizabeth gets upset, and her tiny arms reach
up for me to grab her.

I'll pick her up, and she clings to me like she's lost at sea and
I'm the only piece of driftwood around for miles. I love that
feeling, Pop.

I love being the driftwood. Now I see why you always wanted a hug
before I went to bed, even when I was getting "too old" for them.

As I've gotten older, I've realized something. I now know why we
were so close. It's because you weren't as close with the other
kids, my older siblings. I was your second chance, wasn't I?

I was the little "do over" you wished for; I get that now.

Having a child of my own has opened my eyes. Hope I don't need a
"do over."

Pop, there's something I haven't told you. Elizabeth has had a
tough first year.

She was born with a non-inherited birth defect called achondroplasia.

I don't expect you to remember or pronounce it. Dwarfism is the
more common term. The doctors tell us it's just something that
happens sometimes. It's rare.

There was nothing we could do to prevent it. We found out about it
two days after Elizabeth was born -- the day before Father's Day
last summer.

I sobbed all day, Pop.

Haven't cried like that since your heart attack.

She's got a tough road ahead. She'll be lucky to make it to 4-feet tall as an adult and will have to be mentally strong.

Breaks my heart. Wish I could just give her my bones instead.

And that's not even mentioning her medical issues.

At last count, she's seen at least a dozen doctors. She's been to
two of the best children's hospitals in the country, located right
down the road in Chicago. She's been hooked up to wires, been put
under anesthesia and had her head wrapped up with so much gauze
during three "sleep studies" that she looked like a baby mummy.

They've even had to check her little spinal column with something
called an MRI (which they didn't do when you were alive), just to make sure there's enough space for her spinal cord.

She was deemed "borderline," so we've got another MRI coming soon,
which means more anesthesia and more worry.

What a roller coaster.

There've been days I'd call Lisa just to tell her I wasn't "parent
material."

Then, there were days Elizabeth made me laugh out loud.

Just the other day, she started smashing dry Cheerios on the
high-chair tray, launching them across the kitchen like little
flying saucers.

Her laugh after each smash was infectious.

"Da-da!" she'd scream, then smash another one. "Da-da!"

I've even taught her to high-five.

She'll never be able to play high school sports because of her
skeletal structure, but nothing will stop her from watching baseball with her old man.

I'll make sure of that.

She's always got a smile on her face, too. And I know she doesn't get that from me.

I've turned into a curmudgeon since you left, Pop. I'm sour about
lots of things.

I haven't made it "big" as a columnist.

I've never been a full-time pro beat writer or covered a World
Series.

I don't make a lot of money.

All I really have, the one thing in life that I truly treasure, is the little family Lisa and I have formed.

Whenever I'm looking for the fun part of being a dad, I look at my
baby girl and those piercing blue eyes. When those tiny little arms
reach out for their daddy, I just melt, Pop.

I love being the driftwood.

So, thanks for always being mine, even still.

Miss those hugs,

Your Chief