The hot Arkansas summer always reminds me of my father, Samuel Crain.
Dad loved to garden. Most years he had a garden large enough to feed the family all summer long and we had so much left over that many people looked forward to our fresh vegetables. I think that was one of the things he really enjoyed the most, working in his garden.
When the tiny green plants started poking their little heads out of the dirt, dad would drive his GMC Sierra Pickup Truck (which smelled like Folgers coffee) down the dirt road along the bayou in search of wild cane that he would use to “stick” the beans he had planted. The cane liked to grow in the boggy wet ground around the bayou.
In case you have never “stuck” a bean … we would stick the long straight cane poles into the ground beside each plant and wrap their tender little hands around the rough cane. They would grab hold and grow along the cane, which gave them support.
Sometimes they refused to take direction and grew wild and free. But most of the plants would climb their way along the cane reaching up toward the ever-changing Arkansas sky. By the middle of the summer the plants would be tall over our heads and loaded with Kentucky Wonders or Butter Beans ready for the picking.
Sometimes dad would wake me early in the morning. He would snap on the light in my room and yank the covers off me with one clean jerk. “You’re sleeping your life away,” he would yell as he stormed out the door. Several of those early mornings we went out in search of fresh cane for the garden.
The last time we did that together we found a large stand of cane and pushed our way into it. (The bigger cane was often found deeper in the brake.) Dad would bring a handsaw and cut the cane close to the ground. I would drag it back to the truck.
On the ride back that day I climbed up in the bed of the truck, on top of the cane, and road there to keep it from blowing out. As dad drove I remember sinking down into the cane. Looking up, all I could see was the long narrow leaves blowing and twisting in the morning breeze and the deep blue sky above. This must be the way the little plants feel as they emerge from their underground sleep and see sunlight for the fist time I thought.
Not long after, we were told dad had Hodgkin’s disease. Following surgery he endured a long year of chemotherapy, during which he lost most of his hair. Everyone knew, he was always very particular about his hair.
The treatments put the disease into remission and he lived an active life for three years. He even managed to work in the yard and continue with his garden during those years. He also became a deacon at the church.
When the disease returned it was much more aggressive.
On the foggy ride to the hospital to visit him that last time, what kept coming to mind was that I had never told him that I loved him. You see, for some reason, those three words were not spoken at our house. And I think we all should say them, much more than we do.
We waited at the hospital through the night and most of the next day. His breathing became more difficult as the hours passed. I’ve been told a person’s breathing takes on a different sound as death draws near. It reminded me of the ocean … gentle waves as they come and go … in and out.
Late that afternoon, as the evening sun came streaming into the little hospital room, we all gathered close around dad’s bed. Everyone knew the time was near.
It’s strange, but I don’t remember speaking the words, but I could hear my voice as I said, “I love you daddy.”
How beautiful it sounded to me.
I wished I had said it sooner. When dad stopped breathing I felt peace, knowing his pain was over. And I felt God draw near. As I watched my mom, a single tear turned loose and dropped from my chin.
There are times I can still feel my dad taking my little hands and placing them around the rough cane … pointing me in the direction he wanted me to grow. But I never liked being predictable. That’s probably why he could never fully understand who I was … who I am.
And as I’ve grown through these years … wild and free … I find each time I pass a mirror I look more and more like him.
I’m glad.
The Struggle to Be Known 
Glenn that was beautiful and we could almost hear your voice as we read your blog , I never got to meet your Dad but know the way you talk about him he was a Great Man , and yes you are looking more like him every day, I know he knelt you Loved him even though it was not said much, A Dad and Mom can feel a child’s love , even if it is not spoken a lot. Glenn you are a very fine man, and Happy you are a friend.
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