Just As I Am

How one man with many a conflict and many a doubt still loved well.

Donald Robert Dyer, a man of deep thought and emotion, could keep secrets. Yours was safe with him, but his own secret couldn’t be kept, no matter how hard he tried. It crept out into his community on August 9, 1991. Mr. Dyer was tormented, mentally and emotionally. On that morning Donald attempted suicide at his home in Spartanburg, South Carolina, while his adult daughter was in the house. She woke to gunshots.

It sounds so tragic.

And it was.

But there is so much more. As we near the 30th anniversary of that event, I’d like to tell you some of the rest of our story. I am that daughter.

Though likely susceptible to depressive episodes long before that day, he did such good things with me. Simple things. Playful things. These are the things that I remember.

My daddy hypnotized me when I was little. “You are a chicken,” he’d command and I’d dutifully start clucking until he waved his hands in front of my eyes. I’ve been wondering about hypnosis these days. What would I want to become if he could hypnotize me now?

My daddy played ball with me in the backyard. Just me and him. Never a team. Never opponents. I never even ran bases. He just pitched that ball to me over and over again. I never moved beyond the Little Tykes plastic play set. I’ve been wondering about wooden bats these days. If we went to the park tomorrow, could I hit a homerun? Hand-eye coordination is the same no matter the material, I’m guessing.

My daddy spun tales at bedtime. What would begin as familiar would soon be embellished. Many evenings, I was Little Red Riding Hood. Whoever we didn’t like that night might become the big, bad wolf. My favorite by far was The Three Bears. But I was never Goldilocks! No, for that one I was Baby Bear. I’m brunette and there are some things that can’t be changed, even in fiction. Somehow he’d maintain a whisper while varying character voices, but inevitably my giggles would pour out and mama would holler, “Don’t get her riled up in there so late!” I’ve been wondering what story he’d tell today if I needed a night cap of sorts to settle in for sleep. Is there a fairy tale he’d choose to chase away the day’s harshness?

My daddy took me each Friday night to do the weekly grocery shopping. I’d spend most of my time on the cereal aisle, trying to make my one choice.

He quizzed me on pre-algebraic scenarios long before school math class was doing it. If a train leaves the station at 2:00 going … These word problems were our entertainment while we waited for the clothes to dry on Saturday mornings at the laundromat. If there were extra quarters then he’d buy us a bag of Bugles from the vending machine. Before eating them, we’d play each one, heads thrown back with a cone shaped corn snack between our lips. TOOT TOOT TOOT.

We sang. A lot.

Ain’t it good to be back home again. I still blurt that one out when I drive down the old street.

How scary death is the way we make it. I talked about it with my daddy. Sometimes we’d see a storm cloud coming or a sunset ablaze and we’d murmur, IS THIS THE DAY? The Lord coming back was often on my mind. Despite the weekly heaven sermons, I wasn’t ready.

“I’d be OK with it,” Daddy always said. One time I dared to share with him that I was not. I wanted to grow up and get married before the Lord returned. He surprised me. “Not like that, honey. It’s gonna be so wonderful that you won’t miss a thing there.” I was hypnotized that day, believing it’d be OK to miss out on stuff the world has to offer.

But I’m going to tell you that as much as a girl needs her daddy, I think my daddy still needs his girl. It couldn’t be complete up there for him without me. Sometimes at night I can’t help but whisper to him. Don’t think it’s sacrilege. Wouldn’t a loving Father understand?

My Daddy, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come.

Usually that’s enough on the saddest nights when I’m all riled up about something down here. I’ll fall asleep like some little bear then, snuggled under the just right covers, remembering how he loved me, just as I am, no need for hypnosis.

And I know beyond a doubt that our God wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, and relieve, even those of us who don’t always want to keep on living.

My daddy lived for many more years. I can’t say they were all good ones. But he spent seven of them playing with this grandson.