Outliving My Father
Today, I have outlived my father by one day. What happens tomorrow is all in God’s hands, to whom I have given thanks and praise, and to whom I have lifted my Dad’s soul to Jesus, all throughout this time leading up to this occasion especially with the awesome celebration of the Mass. This whole experience has been a kind of epiphany for me even as the eventual appearance of the numbers “60” on the birthday cake loom in the not-so-distant future.
My father, you could say, was a little attached to the past especially as he immersed himself among the memories of the care-less, free-spirited days of high school football, fast cars, beautiful women, including my mother, and a world just recently ravaged by the threat of the Nazi take-over of the planet, friends he knew that died in Korea, and the prospects of choosing to raise a family, live on his own, and finding a path which could pay for all of it. Unfortunately at times, for me, anyway, he had many friends and associates who helped him enjoy and justify the nostalgic hold on the ticking seconds of life just as his sons were growing older, his wife expanding her professional horizons, and his body gradually weakening although you could have never suspected it. Even at fifty plus years old, with a handsome touch of grey hair, hardly a hint of a belly, and any number of aching muscles clamoring for the quick and over-generous application of Absorbine, Jr., he could still outrun, out climb, and outperform all of the younger firemen at his station which he daily reminded all of them at the drop of a bright red helmet.The last time I saw him alive was in his garage office, a small brown desk that had survived two hurricanes and a couple of frantic moves from his childhood home, to the first house he ever shared with his wife, to the new home he thought they could never afford and finally to the last residence he would occupy. Things were good between us at that point, in fact, they were more than good. Each time we saw each other, even that last evening in the garage, he would hold me tight, mess up my hair a little, then quickly restore it, then insist that I take something for the trip home, be it a sandwich or fruit, or something he thought I might need for my car or kitchen. That last night together, as I was walking to my Chevy Blazer, he reached out to me and started to choke up over his words. “Don’t worry, Dad,” I remember saying to him, “I know you love me.”
Twenty-four years later I buried my Mom, and now I can say that another passage has been complete in my life and I am grateful. Grateful to them both, I am ever-so-thankful to my Sweet Jesus who has never left my side no matter how dark it has been, or rather how dark it appeared to be. Therefore, I’d like to share with you what I have learned going forward. (1) The fear of death is more dreaded than death itself. Fear is the enemy and we cannot negotiate with it. I choose to live in freedom. The only failure is losing God and that’s not going to happen. (2) Because I choose to envision the sheer magnitude of my dreams and blessings, I can appreciate and accept the intensity of my life’s battles. As long as there is breath in my body, I will never give up. (3) Problems are messages. I realize now that until I fully receive and grasp the messages, they are poised to repeat themselves.
I know very well how valuable time is and how wonderful it is when it is spent doing good things and spending it with great people. Thank you, Daddy. I know you did all you could for all of us and truly believe that you are at peace now, hopefully close with Mom. I sure do miss you.