In Memory of Dad Havig~

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Mom and Dad Havig at their 50th Wedding Anniversary 0ctober, 2008

I remember the day I met you. Challice was only a few weeks old and I still carried her around in her carseat all slumped sideways like she loved.  It was at a church soft ball game.  I don’t remember if I played… I don’t even remember if I got to talk to you and mom that day but I do remember that you carried her to my car for me.  This was long before I totalled that car just a few doors down from where your son and I would live about six months later.  You smiled, talked, and joked about ice cream.

The next time I saw you was that Christmas.  You and mom picked us up at the airport and if I remember right, you picked up Challice immediately.  I cannot tell you how much that meant to me.  Any hint of concern that we might not be accepted was eradicated completely.  You took us for ice cream, to Zeno’s for pizza, and watched Challice with Mom time after time so Kevin could show me around the town.  As a matter of fact, the night of that awful car accident you had her.  I’d felt so terrible all day that we’d left her with you- again.  I remember being so thankful later.

I remember so little about that accident.  The cold, the pain, the confusion still hover in my memory but it’s all very fuzzy.  What I do remember is lying on the couch in the living room, exactly where your couch sits today, and hearing Kevin crying in concern for me, the car, and what it all meant and there was nothing I could do.  The simple act of sitting up caused so much pressure and pain on my jaw.  But then you came in.  I don’t know if you ever remembered that moment again but I’ll never forget it.  You came over,  hunkered down on your heels,  and asked how I was feeling.  I couldn’t move my jaw to talk and though I’d become an expert at speaking without moving my teeth in the coming weeks, then I could just attempt to smile.  Then you said the words that made it all “better”.  You glanced through the little window in the wall by the kitchen and said, “That man in there sure loves you.”

Do you have any idea how often I think of that day?  It is one of my most treasured memories of both you and of my life.

You and mom visited.  I remember playing Skip-bo, Hearts, and Spades and you always played Hi-Ho-Cherry-O with the kids.  You took them for ice cream (doesn’t this seem to be a recurring theme?) and to the park.  You played basketball in the back yard with the children.  You’d pick up the baby of the year and call her (well, it was usually a “her”)  “Smiley”.  I do believe you called all of our children “Smiley” at one point or another.

You also were so protective of mom.  When she had her heart problems, you made sure she had her naps and didn’t over do it.  I remember distinctly you commenting on Mom’s pretty hair.

When I think of you, I think of sitting on the steps watching the people go by, ice cream, laughter, deep love of the Lord and His church, and that impish twinkle in your eye that I see everytime I look at our son Nolan.  I am so thankful that our son looks just like you.  He likes puzzles like you do… and ice cream.

My husband loves you.  He’ll miss you.  Our children love you and they will also miss you- even little Lorna who never got to see you talks about grandpa Havig.  I love you and yes, I will miss you.  I’ll miss ice cream and taco pizza at Zenos.  I’ll miss card games, and long rides through December nights looking at Christmas lights.  Don’t forget to point out which one won the grand prize!  But most of all, I’ll miss the man who raised the best man in the world and willingly shared him with me.

We’ll meet again.  Part of me can’t wait.  Until then, find a good ice cream shop in heaven and save me a seat.  We’ll sit out there and watch the people walk by, eat our cones, and you can tell me if you think the grass is too s.h.o.r.t.

I love you.

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