I’ve been thinking a lot about my Dad lately.

I’m talking about my stepfather, who “inherited” me when he married my mother. I was a “challenging” teen, to put it mildly, and Dad accepted and loved me anyway. His own daughter, Linda, would have been my stepsister, had she lived. But she didn’t. She died two days after Christmas, the year after she was born, a loss he never recovered from.

Walking slowly through the kitchen on a hot summer day on the farm in Indiana, he stopped briefly, looked at me, and said, “You know, I got my daughter back when I married your mother,” then just kept walking like he hadn’t dropped a bombshell in my lap.

I was too stunned to say anything, and I don’t think I would have known what to say anyway.

My own father had died too, when I was a child, so I was all too familiar with grief.

It was this man, my Dad, who inspired me, encouraged me, and taught me perhaps the greatest lessons of all – about love, selflessness, and incredible bravery in the face of adversity.

Sometimes all of those are wrapped into one.

Bravery

Especially when things are difficult, I ask myself what Dad would do, or say, in a given circumstance.

Then, I think about what he did and said, privately, quietly, and without regard for his own safety.

I made a very poor spousal choice when I was young and extremely naive. “He who shall remain nameless” was beyond abusive. He tried to kill me and my children multiple times, in multiple ways, including beating me, shooting at us, burning my car, running us off the road, and more.

He meant business, and the local police regarded this all as “a domestic matter.” “Call your lawyer,” they would say. “Nothing we can do.”

Like my Dad said, “Yea, right up until someone is dead.” By then of course, it would have been too late.

Dad was a man of very few words, but with love as deep as a bottomless well.

A few things happened. Some I knew about then, and some I only discovered years later.

Dad bought me a firearm and taught me how to use it effectively and safely.

We practiced, a lot, shooting cans off of fence posts. He said he wanted to make sure I was a crack shot. We made it fun, but, all things considered, it was deadly serious and we both knew it.

He also made sure I knew other defensive, protective maneuvers.

One day, Dad came in from the barn, wearing his signature overalls. He usually took them off in the mud room, wearing cleaner clothes into the house. I saw him remove something from the bib pocket of his overalls and asked what that was.

He rather sheepishly told me it was a gun.

I asked why he was carrying a gun in his overall pocket. He paused, took a deep breath, and told me.

“I will die before I will let anyone harm you or the kids.”

What? He was carrying it to defend ME?

Mom later told me he carried it everyplace during that time, just in case.

Startled, I replied, “But Dad, you’ll go to prison.”

He said, “It doesn’t matter, Bobbi, I’ve lived a long life, and you’ll be alive. Perhaps I was born to make sure you live. Maybe this is the moment I was born for.”

I stood in utter, shocked silence.

Dad was a jokester. I scanned his face to see if there was any hint of humor, an upturn to the corners of his lips perhaps, or twinkle in his eye, but there was none.

I can still see his face, and the deadly earnest of the moment.

Then he added, “Sometimes, it’s not about us. It’s about something bigger,” and walked past me into the house, like nothing had happened.

But everything had happened.

This man, who so lovingly bottle-fed orphan kittens, holding those tiny babies in his gnarled hands, would lay his life down for me, and literally die fighting – protecting us.

The man who didn’t hunt, and often had to call another farmer to put an animal out of its misery, had no qualms whatsoever about doing whatever was necessary to protect me. The “child” who was not “his,” but who had become his more than he would ever know.

I understood in that minute about undying love, about commitment beyond this lifetime. About honor and bravery.

Kidnapped

Not long thereafter, “he who shall remain nameless” did not return my child from a court-mandated weekend parental visit. By the time we realized, he was two days gone. The police said to contact the court – not their issue.

That was long before the days of Amber alerts – and we weren’t even sure when he left or where he went. He could have been anyplace by then.

I had suspicions, and sure enough, with the help of friends in another state, we were able to verify his location. But that state did not have a reciprocal agreement with the state I was living in.

I literally could do nothing, according to the police and court, because there was no jurisdiction there.

I was beyond distraught, paniced and frantic. My child had been kidnapped and no one would do anything about it. How was that even possible?

Dad had other ideas. He told me we were not helpless. The local sheriff was his friend and came to visit. Sitting at the kitchen table, we discussed the situation, options, what was legal, and what was not.

We constructed a plan. It was our only hope. Dad asked me if I wanted him to go with me, or I wanted him to remain at home so he could either post bail or “rescue” me, or us, if needed.

God, I loved that man so much.

Departure

I was on the road almost immediately with instructions from both Dad and the sheriff, in a personal capacity, of course, and Mother’s prayers.

Before I left, standing in the gravel driveway, Dad hugged me as I got into the car, alone.

I was a mess and shaking.

I told Dad I was scared, extremely frightened, and cried.

Scared of the unknown.

Scared of what might happen.

Scared that I would not be able to find my child.

Scared that I would not be able to retrieve my child.

And yes, scared that we might die in the process – or that my child would be horrifically injured.

Or maybe my worst fear – that I would be killed and my child would spend the rest of her life with an abusive parent.

I had never faced a more terrifying situation.

Dad hugged me once again, and as he took a small step backward to look into my face, silent tears were streaming down the creases in his face too.

In hindsight, he was probably horribly afraid of all of those things too, plus losing his daughter again.

Holding my shoulders with both hands, as if to steel me, he said, “Bobbi, we don’t choose bravery – it chooses us.”

Indeed, Dad, indeed.

When push came to shove, it was just him and me. Two reluctant warriors.

I smiled at him, got in the car, and backed out of the driveway.

Sometimes we don’t choose love either. It, too, chooses us.

Happy Ending

I did exactly as I had been instructed.

Adrenaline, bravery’s fuel, carried the day. Two days later, I was back, with no sleep.

I had retrieved my baby and wasn’t stopping until I was safely back in my parents’ home, safe with my Dad. That particular crisis was over, and the ones that followed paled by comparison.

The child, until they were older, never knew what happened, and Dad and I never spoke much about it.

However, it set and sealed an insoluble bond between us.

Not only had Dad demonstrated bravery in the most effective way possible, by example, he also taught me determination, resilience, persistence, and traits that would be interpreted by some as being, let’s say, “difficult.”

Dad illustrated how to work beyond fear in the face of anything.

I had survived the worst hell possible – my worst nightmare. My child being kidnapped and the authorities entirely unconcerned or unable to act. I had stared Satan in the face.

My child was safe and would remain so – thanks to my Dad.

But I was forever changed.

Epilogue

Dad went on to be just a normal grandpa. That’s all he had ever wanted. He wasn’t a macho man. His bravery was worn inside, invisibly, in his soul, where it really mattered.

Thanks to him, we had the opportunity to celebrate Halloween, birthdays, Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and other holidays together as a family for many years.

That child tagged along with him, his shadow in the barn. They too had a forever bond.

We enjoyed life on the farm, with the normal ebb and flow of the seasons, planting and harvesting.

Many joyful years followed, until Dad left us.

Love Knows No Bounds

Several years after “the incident”, as the adults would say, looking knowingly at each other, Dad stood up with me at my wedding.

Now, mind you, at the back of the church, before walking down the aisle, he whispered that it still wasn’t too late to run out the doors behind us! He made me laugh on what was supposed to be a somber occasion.

Dad also consented to purchase a new suit, one of only two in his life, I think. I have pieces of his tie in a quilt I made after his passing.

This is my all-time favorite picture of us together, taken that day.

You can see love shining through.

I surely miss that man. I have no words to express the depth of my gratitude to have had him in my life. I sure hope he knew. Knows.

I had the very best Dad ever!