An anniversary

You have been gone one year as of yesterday afternoon.

I think about a talk we had before you left when we were talking about eternity.  I told you I would miss you, but you would not miss me.  You looked confused, and I told you that you are going to a place where time exists no more.  Whether it is 1 day, or 100 years from now, when I arrive - it will be like you just got there and turned around, and there I was - right after you.

Eternity is beyond our comprehension.  We try to understand, but in a world of limits we cannot fathom a limitless existence.

Imagine the ocean.  Water as far as you can see.  So much water, it is immeasurable.

The ocean is eternity.

One drop of water is our life, lived to its fullest.

Eternity is incomprehensible.

It was a year ago you shrugged off the limits of this world.

In this ocean of eternity, not even a drop of water has passed.

You will turn, you will blink, and we will be there.

It is just like when we were children.

Dad always went before us, and secured everything.  We had a place to live, schools  and church to attend,  they were expecting us.  Although we were unable to spend a lot of time with our extended families, we always experienced someone waiting for us, someone excited about our arrival.

How much like Jesus this is.

He left before us, to prepare a place, that where he is, we may be also.

Just one more thing to hope for.

In this year without you, we have shed tears, we truly missed you.

But we have hope - hope we did not understand before.

You will turn, you will blink, and we will be there.

Time to say goodbye

It has been a year, and although the activities have always had your shadow overhead, you were not here.

We became "perceived" experts in our ability to diagnose everyone with your illness.  Even those that are not sick.  I guess it is a part of the pendulum of life swinging from one extreme to another.

Sometimes it has been hard to be motivated.  I never felt like I was depressed or sad, but I just could not seem to "get going" with the intensity I once had.

I am more tolerant in some areas, and less in others.

I am beginning to care about me, and my feelings.

I grew up and suffered religious angst when my core, the very being of who I am, did not coincide with the mindless dribble by those learned theologians allowed to be in authority of our faith.  When I questioned, I was always wrong for questioning, and the answers were...never there.

I wish I could say you taught me to question, that you taught me to seek these things out.

Perhaps you did, when your blind acceptance of fallible men's interpretations of the scriptures became your gospel...and I wanted more...I wanted a personal truth.

I wanted more than the social event of Sunday morning, and perhaps another day during the week.

I wanted that faith, that relationship with someone that would never leave.  After all, even at its best, all of life is temporal.

I wanted that rest in my spirit, that peace in my soul, when in the solitude of darkness I can still hear you struggling to breathe...and it stops.

And never starts again.

You taught me a lot, or at least you tried to.  I adhere to your faith, your eternal hope is my eternal hope.  But I want more.

I want the strength to stand when I have done all I can, and all that is left is to trust in the unseen.  I want to "stand in the gap" for those that are suffering in silence, and let them sleep, knowing someone cares.

I want to pass this knowledge to someone else.  Pass this baton to the next runner, as we sit in silence because we have said all there is to say.

I want to be missed one day.

I guess I want the things you achieved.

It has been a long year.  A lot of soul searching and growth, and I am finally seeing a little life from this year of cultivation. I am finally starting to understand.

I am growing up.

Dad, I never wanted to say goodbye, but this cannot go on forever.  It is time to return to my life and carry the memories in my heart, and continue the journey.

Thank you for the tireless efforts of training, teaching, and in the end, yes - I know you loved me.

You were a good man, and I am proud to have been with you through all of this.

I remember wearing your combat boots when I was a child, just a boy "flopping" around in his father's shoes. It was funny, it was entertaining, and you were the giant in all of life.

It took a long time before I could wear those boots, and when I did - it felt right.

Whether it is wingtips, boots, or some other shoe - they are mine now.  No longer a child "flopping" around in Daddy's shoes, but a man...following my own call, my own piper - after all, that is what you taught me to do.

Rest in peace Dad, it's going to be okay.