In Loving Memory of My Daddy,

Dan Wallace Fulton

January 12, 1947 - August 11, 1997

"Daddy, If I Saw You Up In Heaven"

If I saw you up in heaven, Would it be the same? Would you remember I'm your little girl... Would you even know my name? Daddy, if I saw you up in heaven, Could I sit upon your knee? Would you hug me tight and stroke my hair, And sing "Country Roads" to me? If I saw you up in heaven, Would you wipe away my tears? Would I finally know the reason why You had to go away and leave me here? Can you look down from heaven, And see how sad my life is here, Can you see the flowers on your grave, Can you see my heart in tears? There may not be tears in Heaven... But Daddy, heaven isn't here. Michelle Fulton--Copyright September 1997.

"Almost Heaven,West Virginia, Blue Ridge mountain, Shenandoah river..."

My father's voice was different that night... there was a sense of sadness, of longing. It was July 23, 1997, and my dad had called me to chat like he had quite often during the weks following my mother's death. He had gotten more bad news-- the latest round of chemo wasn't working, and his doctors had given up hope. He had stayed home from work that day because his legs had been hurting him so bad that he couldn't stand up. We talked about alot of things... the latest dirty jokes, politics, and life. The conversation turned serious, though, and my father began telling me how proud he was of me, how proud my mother had been of me, and how he hoped I would hold on to all of the good times and let go of the bad. He wanted me to know how much I loved him and how much I had meant to him. That night, he said all the words I had always wanted to hear him say the way I wanted him to say them. I didn't think that it was a particularly odd conversation because we had had several serious and sad talks after Mom died. Looking back now, I realize that he was trying to tell me good-bye without it being obvious what he was doing. He had managed to hide how serious his condition was, but he was also making sure he took care of unfinished business. He talked about how much he loved my children, and how he wished he could play catch with them. I cried as I told him how much I loved him and that no man would ever take his place. Then I glanced at my watch and realized that I had to go pick up my kids, so I told my Dad that I needed to go for nwo and that I'd call him later...then for some reason, scenes from my childhood came back and I could hear my father singing our favorite song to me. I softly started singing to Dad... "Almost Heaven, West Virgina..." and I heard him softly chime in. As we reached the chorus of "Country Roads,", our voices began to falter as we both cried, but we made it through and said our good-byes. I promised to call him in a couple of days, and I hung up the phone. It was the last time I would ever talk to my Dad.

My father was a special man. He was witty, funny, intelligent, and he had this wry sense of humor that kept me laughing through the hard times. He was a very well-liked and well-respected by everyone who knew him. He was the youngest of my grandparent's three children, and when he was very young he contracted scarlet fever, which worsened and turned into rheumatic fever. My granparents were afraid he would die but he didn't. He grew up to be popular, witty, and bright. At the time he died, he had wroked for the State of Louisiana for roughly 23 years. He had made a good name and reputation for himself, and was loved and respected by his peers. He beleived in helping others and would often use his position to help thosse who had nowhere else to turn.
My most vivid memories are not of him doing his job, but of him as a Dad. From the time I was little, I loved to sit in his lap and smell the scent of pipe tobacco and Aramis cologne. To this day, I can still smell him. He loved to grill steaks and he could make a mean basting sauce. Thankfully, he taught me how to make it so the tradition can continue. :) I remember every year at Christmas my Dad and I would concoct all kinds of schemes to sneak around and buy my Mom her presents, and little did he know that at the same time Mom and I would be in cahoots to HIDE his presents. No matter how hard we tried, thoughg, he always figured out what at least one of his presents would be. After a year or two I got smart and started changing boxes up on him! He was a kid at heart... I think some of the grandest times he ever had was coaching my brother through years of football and baseball. He was a great coach, and thekids loved him. I remember when my brother was 8 there was a little girl on his baseball team that was killed in a car accident and my Dad came home crying. He loved the kids on his team as though they were his own, and when Susie died we though his heart would never heal.
My Dad was a good father. He made his mistakes, but I never doubted that he loved us. He was gone alot with his job, but when he was home we had family dinners, trips to the amusement park, family vactions, and sports. We used to turn the LSU-Arkansas game into a family war, with Mom and Jeff cheering for Arkansas while Dad and I would cheer for LSU. It was a grand rivalry, but in time I managed to convince my parents that MY Alma-Mater, Kansas State, was the real deal. :) My dad was a good husband also. He worked hard to support us so that we would have what we needed and alot of what we wanted. I was encouraged to strive for the best academically and he was demanding when it came to my grades. At times I resented it, but in hindsight I am glad he expected so much of me because I learned the importance of education and now find myself teaching that lesson to my own sons.

Created by Michelle © 1999, all rights reserved, and updated

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