A couple of weeks ago I was driving when my car shifted strangely. I reached for my phone to call my dad like I have so many times before. It wasn't until I grabbed my phone that it hit me--I will never speak to my dad again. I drove for miles with tears streaming down my face. Loss is hard. Loss hurts so much and the pain of loss will always be there in some corner of my heart. At times, that corner feels like half my heart. And that's okay, because what I lost was so precious. I lost a great listener. I lost a comforter. I lost a protector. I lost a problem-solver. I lost my son's big buddy. I lost a Godly example. What I have left, however, is a legacy, full of memories of a humble, gentle, strong, compassionate, caring man that put so much of himself and his time into everyone he met, and especially his family.
I was not an easy child to raise. I was the "strong-willed child" for which books are written to help parents. Yes, my parents bought the book (but I'm not sure if they ever read it--they were a little distracted by three kiddos). I remember being disciplined by my dad when I chose to exert my strong will. I always thought I was so clever when my dad would send us to choose the belt for a spanking and I would choose the skinny one. I mean, smaller hurts less, right? I would put on extra pairs of underwear and would occasionally stuff a small pillow down the back of my pants to protect my soon-to-be-swatted bottom. I always thought it so amazing that my dad would miss my bottom and the belt would land somewhere else. But the part I remember most, even as I grew older and the punishment turned to being sent to my room or grounded, that when the punishment was over or the sentence given, my dad would calmly sit me down, make sure I knew why I was being punished, and then let me know he loved me.
Love. That was something I could always count on my dad to give. If anything, my dad was consistent and he consistently and constantly loved. My dad would not only tell us he loved us, but would show it. He would come home from work at the end of the day tired, but I remember evenings and nights filled with playing outside with my dad. He would read to us every night, instilling a love of books into us...well, his girls at least. He drove the oldest car, often without luxuries such as air conditioning, so that we could have the nicer cars. I remember him sitting with me in the middle of the night when I had ear infections, or holding my hair while I lost my lunch only to clean it all up after I was done. He did this not only for his kids who were sick because he loved them, but also for my mom so she wouldn't always have to be the one to care for a sick child.
When my dad was first diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I knew his chances of living more than five years were slim to non-existent. But I prayed and believed he would be cured. And he was for a few months before it came back and spread through his body. He fought hard, but we knew his time was coming to an end.
I will never forget the day we lost my dad. My siblings and I had planned to throw my parents an anniversary celebration on January 31 for their 40th anniversary the next day, February 1. Travis, the kids, and I drove into town that morning and we were dropping the kids off at my in-law's house when my sister called. She was rather distraught and could only get out, "You need to come. The EMS is here to get Dad." Travis and I raced, rather unsafely, to my parents' house. The sight that greeted me as we turned onto the street literally took my breath away and started the tears running.
Ambulances, fire trucks, and first-responders filled the cul-de-sac in front of their home to where we had to park several houses away and walk up the hill to reach the house. When we walked in, my aunts and uncles were in the living room. No one was talking much. My sister was in the hallway and we just hugged and cried. We waited at the bottom of the stairs until my mom called us up to where she and a paramedic were standing in the hallway upstairs. We were told my dad was gone.
Grief is powerful. I had never felt to the fullest extent what it meant when someone, myself included, would say, "My heart is heavy with grief." I physically felt as if my insides were being pulled down to the deepest places of my body. For several days, much of me was stunned. But something stronger began to take root in grow in my heart, lifting it back to where it belonged. As the day went on and the visitors came, we talked about how freeing death was for my dad, how he is no longer in pain, how as much as he loved us he would not now choose to come back.
We could only imagine what it was like for him to close his eyes on this earth only to open them in heaven. To be in awe of what he beheld. To meet Jesus. To hear, "Well done thou good and faithful servant." God did not callously take my dad away and leave us alone. God was, and is, with us every moment. And He loves and cares for us.
We knew what kind of man my dad was, but I don't think we truly understood how many people this quiet man impacted until the night of his viewing. The viewing was to be only an hour and a half, but the line was so long that we were there almost four hours. I met people that my dad worked with over thirty years ago to people my dad worked with until the cancer forced him to retire early. I spoke with people who knew my dad for several decades to those who knew him only a short time. They all described the man we knew. His kindness and love and compassion for others extended beyond his family and was deeply felt by all. His co-workers probably made up a third of the line, many deeply felt the loss of my father. We also were told many times of how my dad would tell others of his loving Lord, even the nurses caring for him.
I am so thankful for God blessing me with the father He gave me. Many people say children are a blessing from the Lord, but often times, I believe we the children are the ones who are blessed with the gift of loving and godly parents.
My parents were not able to share the day of their 4oth anniversary together, but the love they shared was evident to everyone who met them. On February 1, we celebrated their anniversary without my dad's presence. It was bittersweet, but it was a celebration of love.
Love. That seemed to be the theme of my dad's life. Not how much love he could get, but how much he could give. With Easter having just passed, we are reminded of the greatest act of love ever bestowed. God sent His Son to this earth to willingly suffer and die for us so that we could one day spend eternity with Him. Christ rose from the dead. Death has lost its sting and Christ has won the victory. For those who have believed that Christ died for them and rose from the dead, death will never separate us from the love of God.
I was not an easy child to raise. I was the "strong-willed child" for which books are written to help parents. Yes, my parents bought the book (but I'm not sure if they ever read it--they were a little distracted by three kiddos). I remember being disciplined by my dad when I chose to exert my strong will. I always thought I was so clever when my dad would send us to choose the belt for a spanking and I would choose the skinny one. I mean, smaller hurts less, right? I would put on extra pairs of underwear and would occasionally stuff a small pillow down the back of my pants to protect my soon-to-be-swatted bottom. I always thought it so amazing that my dad would miss my bottom and the belt would land somewhere else. But the part I remember most, even as I grew older and the punishment turned to being sent to my room or grounded, that when the punishment was over or the sentence given, my dad would calmly sit me down, make sure I knew why I was being punished, and then let me know he loved me.
Love. That was something I could always count on my dad to give. If anything, my dad was consistent and he consistently and constantly loved. My dad would not only tell us he loved us, but would show it. He would come home from work at the end of the day tired, but I remember evenings and nights filled with playing outside with my dad. He would read to us every night, instilling a love of books into us...well, his girls at least. He drove the oldest car, often without luxuries such as air conditioning, so that we could have the nicer cars. I remember him sitting with me in the middle of the night when I had ear infections, or holding my hair while I lost my lunch only to clean it all up after I was done. He did this not only for his kids who were sick because he loved them, but also for my mom so she wouldn't always have to be the one to care for a sick child.
When my dad was first diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I knew his chances of living more than five years were slim to non-existent. But I prayed and believed he would be cured. And he was for a few months before it came back and spread through his body. He fought hard, but we knew his time was coming to an end.
I will never forget the day we lost my dad. My siblings and I had planned to throw my parents an anniversary celebration on January 31 for their 40th anniversary the next day, February 1. Travis, the kids, and I drove into town that morning and we were dropping the kids off at my in-law's house when my sister called. She was rather distraught and could only get out, "You need to come. The EMS is here to get Dad." Travis and I raced, rather unsafely, to my parents' house. The sight that greeted me as we turned onto the street literally took my breath away and started the tears running.
Ambulances, fire trucks, and first-responders filled the cul-de-sac in front of their home to where we had to park several houses away and walk up the hill to reach the house. When we walked in, my aunts and uncles were in the living room. No one was talking much. My sister was in the hallway and we just hugged and cried. We waited at the bottom of the stairs until my mom called us up to where she and a paramedic were standing in the hallway upstairs. We were told my dad was gone.
Grief is powerful. I had never felt to the fullest extent what it meant when someone, myself included, would say, "My heart is heavy with grief." I physically felt as if my insides were being pulled down to the deepest places of my body. For several days, much of me was stunned. But something stronger began to take root in grow in my heart, lifting it back to where it belonged. As the day went on and the visitors came, we talked about how freeing death was for my dad, how he is no longer in pain, how as much as he loved us he would not now choose to come back.
We could only imagine what it was like for him to close his eyes on this earth only to open them in heaven. To be in awe of what he beheld. To meet Jesus. To hear, "Well done thou good and faithful servant." God did not callously take my dad away and leave us alone. God was, and is, with us every moment. And He loves and cares for us.
We knew what kind of man my dad was, but I don't think we truly understood how many people this quiet man impacted until the night of his viewing. The viewing was to be only an hour and a half, but the line was so long that we were there almost four hours. I met people that my dad worked with over thirty years ago to people my dad worked with until the cancer forced him to retire early. I spoke with people who knew my dad for several decades to those who knew him only a short time. They all described the man we knew. His kindness and love and compassion for others extended beyond his family and was deeply felt by all. His co-workers probably made up a third of the line, many deeply felt the loss of my father. We also were told many times of how my dad would tell others of his loving Lord, even the nurses caring for him.
I am so thankful for God blessing me with the father He gave me. Many people say children are a blessing from the Lord, but often times, I believe we the children are the ones who are blessed with the gift of loving and godly parents.
My parents were not able to share the day of their 4oth anniversary together, but the love they shared was evident to everyone who met them. On February 1, we celebrated their anniversary without my dad's presence. It was bittersweet, but it was a celebration of love.
I had mentioned to my sister about having my parents' wedding cake recreated for the anniversary party we were going to have. She did an amazing job finding the picture and having the cake recreated as well as planning a party that was never to be. We feasted on cake and reminisced about about the husband, father, and grandfather we loved.
Love. That seemed to be the theme of my dad's life. Not how much love he could get, but how much he could give. With Easter having just passed, we are reminded of the greatest act of love ever bestowed. God sent His Son to this earth to willingly suffer and die for us so that we could one day spend eternity with Him. Christ rose from the dead. Death has lost its sting and Christ has won the victory. For those who have believed that Christ died for them and rose from the dead, death will never separate us from the love of God.
For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35-39)
I never was able to to officially tell my dad goodbye. And that's okay, because in reality, it really is, "See ya later." I will see my dad again one day in heaven. I pray I will pass on to my children the love my dad gave to me and my siblings, and exemplify Christ the way my dad did through his actions.
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| Photo Credit: Galleryhip.com |
I never was able to to officially tell my dad goodbye. And that's okay, because in reality, it really is, "See ya later." I will see my dad again one day in heaven. I pray I will pass on to my children the love my dad gave to me and my siblings, and exemplify Christ the way my dad did through his actions.
Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails...
(I Cor 13:4-8a)
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| Photo Credit: Phil Hyman Photography |
