Brad Ronnfeldt

My mother married a man that she had five children with, and we called him dad. When I was three they divorced and my dad left us. My dad left my mother with no job and five children to support. The term Dad soon became a faded memory and a missing feeling. My mom sometime after her divorce from my dad met a man named Brad that my little brother, Ben, in time nicknamed Buddy. None of us I think knew just how endearing the nickname Buddy would soon become to us. Every holiday or birthday Buddy was there for. Every school event or family picture Buddy was in it. Every camping trip or adventure park we’d been to Buddy took us. Every day and every night Buddy was there. Every memory I have, in some way, Buddy is a part of. One of the reoccurring memories I have growing up is when someone would ask me who Buddy is and if he was my father, I would say “Oh, no, he’s not my real dad. I don’t really know my real dad”. Then I would try to remember the faded memory and missed feeling of my real dad. In the last 20 years I’ve seen my real dad maybe 3 or 4 times. The first time we saw him, we met his new wife and 2 children that called him dad, that he supported and saw everyday. Then again when I was a freshman in high school. He stayed for a day or two and we took a few pictures. The last time I saw my “real dad” was four and half years ago when my oldest sister, Dana, died. My mother had to call the child support office so they could send a message to him because we didn’t know where to find him. It turns out he lived 6 hours away in Wisconsin. But that day my sister died, along with a part of my families heart, Buddy was already there. We didn’t have to call to find him, and we didn’t have to wonder how long he was going to stay. No, Buddy was the support, the strength, and the comfort through one of our families hardest times. Buddy is the man that my mother’s heart belongs to, the man who supported my family, who was there in good times, and who never walked out on us in the bad times. Buddy is the man who loved us for a lifetime. A man like Buddy is an extreme rarity in this world. He didn’t make five children, but he was the father of five children. Years ago my mother had to have surgery, one that would disable her from having anymore children but the doctor said she could have one more child before the surgery if she wanted. She told us that she looked at Buddy and asked him what he thought. He said to her “I already have five children, I don’t need anymore.” How can we ever thank him for being the father we so needed and loved. For showing us what it means to be a real dad. There’s one last memory I would like to share about Buddy. Before I joined the Navy and still lived in Omaha I kept telling Buddy about the restaurant Don and Millies, it was so good. He had to try it. So I told him I would bring it up to his job one night for lunch. When I got there he smiled at me, gave me a big hug, and asked me how my day went. We talked for a minute, he told me a little about his job, and then some of his co-workers came over. He put his arm around me and said to them “this is my daughter. “Jamie”. I smiled from ear to ear, said hello, hugged him, then we said our goodbyes. I never told him how good it felt that day to be his daughter, but my heart tells me somehow he knows. Now if ever anyone asks me about my real dad... with a sad face I’ll say.. “My DAD died on May 8th 2004.”

JamieRae Dooley

Labels: Jamies note to Buddy