Kay Fulp said:
My parents were just kids themselves when life brought them together. My mom was walking in the snow, pushing my brother Kevin in his stroller, when my dad stopped and offered them a ride out of the cold. That small act of kindness became the beginning of our family. They were both only 19 when I was born, and my dad turned 20 just three weeks later. Wanting to provide for his growing family, my dad joined the Marines. Military life proved difficult while my mom was trying to care for two small children, and with the help of my grandmother, Kathryn “Mammaw” Hamlin, and Uncle Snelson, my dad received an honorable discharge and came home to us. He chose his family. Looking back now, I realize what a gift those early years were. We lived in a little house filled with love. Every Sunday after church, our family gathered together for lunch, grandparents, aunts, uncle, cousins, laughter, and stories around the table. Those Sundays felt endless and safe. Three years after I was born, my brother Dean joined our family, making our home even fuller and louder. We truly loved each other. Some of my happiest memories are at Christmastime, my brothers waking me before daylight to see if Santa had come yet. I can still feel the excitement and joy of those mornings. When I was in the second or third grade, life changed. My parents divorced, and my grandfather Bubba helped us move away. I do not remember every detail from that time, but I remember the sadness. I felt like my family had been taken away from me. Suddenly there were no more Sundays at my grandparents’ house after church, no more crowded tables filled with family, and no more feeling of home the way I had known it. As the years passed, life became uncertain. There were more moves, more changes, and difficult times that shaped all of us. During my middle school years, we eventually moved to Garland, Texas. At the time, I did not fully understand why we were leaving; I only knew that everything familiar seemed farther away than ever. During those years, we rarely saw my dad. He had remarried and was building a new life with his wife and her children. The adults in our lives often struggled to find peace with one another, and as children, my brothers and I sometimes became caught in the middle. There were times we reached out, longing to come home and reconnect with our father, but life did not unfold the way any of us hoped. When my younger brother Dean was 16 and I was 19, we returned home for the funeral of our beloved Mammaw Hamlin, the grandmother who loved us deeply and mourned the years she had lost with us. During that visit, I saw my father grieving the loss of his mother. He was the youngest of five children, and her passing broke his heart. He told us he wanted to stay in touch and rebuild our relationship, but sadly, time and circumstances separated us again. Even through all those years apart, I never stopped loving my dad. I never forgot the young father who chose his family, the man who worked to build us a home, the Sundays after church surrounded by family, or the joy of Christmas mornings with my brothers. Those memories remained alive in me always. In the early 2000s, after I began facing health issues and feeling especially alone, I found myself longing to reconnect with my dad. I wanted to hear his voice again and simply talk to him. After searching for him, I discovered he owned a trucking company called K & P Express. The number I found turned out to be a fax line, so I sent him a handwritten note, hoping somehow it would reach him. A few days later, my phone rang. It was my dad. He sounded genuinely happy to hear my voice, and from that moment forward, we slowly began rebuilding the relationship we had both missed for so many years. We talked often, usually while he was running errands and in his truck. Those conversations became precious to me. As I got to know him again as an adult, I realized how much of him lived inside me. We even shared the same eyes. Looking into his face sometimes felt like looking into a mirror. Time could not erase all the years we had lost or all the hurt we carried, and rebuilding relationships is rarely simple. There were still moments that reminded me of everything I had missed growing up without my father. But through it all, I knew one thing for certain: my dad wanted a relationship with me, and I wanted one with him too. In the last years of my dad’s life, his health steadily declined. There were surgeries, hospital stays, rehabilitation centers, nursing homes, and many difficult days. No matter how hard things became, I called often and made the trip to see him whenever I could. Even living in different states, I wanted him to know he was loved and never forgotten. This past year was especially hard. Most of his time was spent either in the hospital, rehabilitation, or nursing care. Just one month before he passed, he lost his wife of 53 years. I respected the life they built together and knew her loss weighed heavily on him. During his final days, I stayed by his side as much as possible. On the night before he passed, I sat with him in the hospital, listening to his breathing and watching his heart struggle to keep going. I knew in my heart that the end was near. Though there were difficult decisions surrounding his care, what matters most to me now is that I was there with him. After he was moved and made comfortable, I sat beside him quietly. And when my father took his final breath, he was not alone. In that moment, all the years, distance, misunderstandings, and pain seemed to fade away. I looked at his peaceful face and saw not only the man he had become, but also the young father from my earliest memories, the man who once stopped to help a young mother in the snow, the father who gave me my first sense of home, family, and love. I will carry those memories with me always. Rest peacefully, Dad. I loved you then, I love you still, and I always will. Kay Kay