Dad

As many of you already know, my Dad died on May 7. It was not expected; for 76, he was in pretty good shape and hadn’t been sick, besides what we thought were the typical aging things. He went in for surgery in late April, came through just fine, came off the ventilator, and we had a couple of great days. Then, his lungs took a turn for the worse, he went back on the vent, and 12 long days later, his kidneys began to fail. It was at that point that we knew it was time for us to say goodbye. We knew he was ready. In fact, we’re pretty certain he had known for quite some time that his earthly days were growing short.

On Friday afternoon, May 7, at 4 p.m., we were close by his side, holding his hands and praying with him as he went home to heaven. It was the most painful and the most beautiful moment of my life. It is said that those who love deeply, grieve deeply. I think it is a fair trade. I would not relinquish any of the love, the laughter, the arguments, the discussions, or the memories that I shared with Dad. Do I miss him? No words can describe it. But I know where he is, and I know we will rejoice together again. Our hope is in the Lord.

A few weeks before he died, he called me out to the front porch to talk with him and a dear friend of his who had just been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. Dad wanted me to tell this friend what I thought about death and heaven. I struggled to reply, to find some words of comfort, believing they were for his friend. My own words failing me, I turned to Paul. He wrote this in a letter to the Corinthians. If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all others. (I Cor. 15:19) I went on to say that death may seem like a terrible thing, but we hold on to God’s hand, keep walking, and soon we see that it was just part of God’s plan for us, a momentary pain to reach an everlasting joy.

Later, when Dad was so sick and we were told the end was near, these words came back to me, and I thought to myself “Oh, Dad wasn’t asking me to tell this to his friend. He was asking the question for himself.” I fretted over my answer, trying to recall what I had said. Did it bring him any comfort?

A few days after he died, these words again came to my mind and, amidst all the funeral arrangements, the tears, the grief, a peace came upon me. And I smiled. Dad hadn’t asked me for clarification for his friend or for himself. He wanted me to say it so when I needed it I would remember what I believe and REALLY BELIEVE IT. When it comes to faith, like Yoda says “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”

I do. I do believe.

Thanks Dad.