One year ago today (June 10th), I sat at my father’s bedside, held his 91-year-old hand in mine and told him, “I love you. I forgive you. And I release you.”
We were alone in that tiny room at the assisted living facility (my husband, my father and I), and yet we were in the company of “too many angels to count.”
It was a holy, spiritual moment that I will never forget.
As I said at his eulogy on June 20th, 2011, “my father came into this world surrounded by love, and 91 years later he stepped out of this world, again surrounded and embraced by love. It was a good ending.”
To read more about Thomas H. Fuller, click here.
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My father in 2003, in Portsmouth, Virginia. He was 84 years old here.
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About 1977, shown with his twin brother, Ed.
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My father shown here with his father, Edgar A. Fuller. This picture was taken inside Edgar's home on 14th Street in Santa Monica (about 1977).
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Dad sits on the edge of Eddie's bed, trying not to upset the dog (about 1971).
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Mid-1960s, my father in Santa Monica, in front of his childhood home at 213 14th Street.
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My father loved California. He's admiring the oranges in his parent's back yard.
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My father with this father in 1966.
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Our family in 1966, enroute to California from Portsmouth, Virginia. My father purchased a "new" car for the trip, a 1957 Cadillac. We made the 3,000-mile trek in seven days.
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My father holding his newest offspring in Summer 1959. BTW, that's me in his lap and my brother Tom sitting beside us. The beautiful bed in the photo had been my father's bed since 1935. It was made in the 1890s and had been an Exhibition Piece at the 1894 World's Fair.
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My father was always very photogenic. I always had a very large forehead that caught the camera's glare (about 1960).
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Ed and Father, in 1956. They lived in Shea Terrace (Portsmouth) at the time. Check out the 1953 Pontiac in the background.
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My father was a WW2 Army Veteran. This photo was the early 1940s.
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My father at age six.
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In the mid-1990s, I visited my father's home and a friend of his answered the door. As I stood on the stoop, she stared at me - slackjawed - and didn't move. Finally, I started to push past her while asking, "Everything okay?" She replied, "I ain't never seen a daughter who looked so much like her father. You look just like him." A little disconcerting for a 30-something woman to be told she's the twin of her 70-something father. And yet, this photo of my father from 1922 really showcases that. This could have been a photo of me.
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My father and his twin brother in 1919. My grandmother captioned this photo with "Whenever Junior (right side) and Thomas (left) are together, Junior reaches out and takes Thomas' little hand." It was this photo that enabled me to forgive my father. Seeing his innate, God-given child-like innocence opened "the eyes of my eyes" and healed my heart.
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My father in 2007, at my wedding. He was 87 years old. Photo is copyright Dave Chance and can not be used without written permission.
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As I told my father in the last days of his life, he was not always part of my life, but I never stopped loving him.
And I never will.
Rosemary – what a year and what a journey it has taken you on since June 10, 2011!
Rose, I agree, you do favor your father! Thinking of you and wishing you well as you celebrate the memory of your father.
Great old photos! I just love piecing together people’s lives from such old treasures! Thanks for sharing the stories about your dad.