In Honor of a Great Man

Today is a date I will never forget.

On this day, 17 years ago, I sat in a stone church to celebrate the life of my father.

It was the funeral he would love: a pipe and drum corp to blast Scottish anthems, his body processed in and recessed out. For his viewing, dad had a wish that his casket be made into a time capsule of sorts. So we all brought things that he loved and cherished and placed them in his casket with him. Perhaps most notable was a brush held in his hands. My father was a painter and had a deep love for art (especially surrealism).

I had lost my mother to cancer nearly 8 years prior; my dad died from cancer also. I remember being told the news that dad had cancer over dinner and I unraveled. To me, cancer was a death sentence for anyone with that diagnosis. I had lost my mother, grandparents, and others to its insatiable consumption. It was unthinkable to me. My dad was a stonewall that could endure anything thrown at him. He might get beaten down, but he would always survive. We talked about plans and things to prepare for, including all the family history I would inherit as part of the next generation of historians that protected our legacy.

That time never came, as several days later he was admitted to the hospital for evaluations and tests and hopes for treatments. I recall him cussing at nurses and telling them where they could stick those needles. It gave me hope for a moment as dad was in good spirits. I recall the last thing he said to me “love you, son” before I went home. The next day when I came back to visit, he was comatose. It was such a different experience. I knew then that he would die that day or the next day. The news from the oncologist was grim. I remember his pastor coming and we all held hands and surrounded his bed and prayed for mercy for his suffering. Then, one by one, we each took dad’s hand and said our goodbyes. As of the time of me writing this post, saying goodbye to dad was perhaps the hardest thing I have ever done. How do you even form the words to say goodbye to the man that sacrificed his entire life so that my sister and I could have a better one? How do you say goodbye to the person who gave you the ability to see and perceive the world the way you do? How do you say “I love you” enough in gratitude for what was given?

We all left for the night to reconvene the next day and start talking about “the plans” that had to be discussed and arranged. After coming home, my stepmom called me to let me know dad was gone. That evening, as a nurse went to check on him, he took in a deep breath, let it out, and passed. Mercy came for him in the form of a sigh. A prayer was answered.

I remember the next several days as a blur. The funeral is permanently etched into my memory, as was his burial. I had the honor to be one of dad’s pallbearers and help carry him to his final place of rest. It was such a holy moment for me; as if by helping carry his body to its place of rest, I was able to give the honor due to the man that raised and shaped me. It was a way I could say “thank you.”

17 years later, all it takes is the right trigger, and I’m on the ground sobbing like a young man wailing for the hugs his father gave him growing up. Grief returns as a tsunami and I’m taken by it, for a time. The wound of losing him is fresh again, and the pain I feel is burning hot, and then numb. No matter how many years pass, grief still comes and it can be like day 1 all over again. Nonetheless, time marches on and I continue my journey.

So how does the son of a man like my father honor him?

By simply being me and happy, I believe my dad would be pleased. Of course, I chose to take a hard path to return to school and finish what I started. It hasn’t been easy for me these past couple of years, but I imagine it helps me understand a sliver of what dad gave up for me. I believe that by chasing what I have discerned to be my purpose in life and my dreams, dad would be happy and proud of me. I struggled so hard with this for a while. I would cry and ask the wind if I was a good enough man to deserve to live and dad dead. Of course, now I know the answer is “yes” and that simply being his son and doing the best I can, is enough.

I am enough.

As long as I live, my father lives on in me. I carry the parts of him he entrusted to me to carry forward into the future. I see my dad everywhere, but especially in sunrises and sunsets. It’s as if I can see my dad painting the sky for me every day as a little greeting to me and to remind me that he loves me.

And so, I honor my father today, 17 years after we celebrated his life and laid him to rest. He is with his family again. He lost his dad and sister when he was six weeks old. So I can imagine how happy that family must be to finally be together after so long. I also know that he can finally be with mom again, and all the wounds and scars between them healed. He is no longer suffering, but wrapped in love and joy eternal; and while brings me some comfort, today I am that boy sobbing on the floor crying for my dad again, wishing to hug him once more and to hear the sound of his voice say “I love you, son” one more time. I miss him so much, and I also wish I could tell him how much I love him again.

Until then, dad is somewhere out in the cosmos waiting for me. He has so much to show me when we’ve finally reunited again, and I look forward to the adventures that await us.

Wherever you are in the universe, dad, I will find you again.

And when I do, together we will boldly go where no man has gone before. 💗

I love you, dad.