I made it...

Yesterday was my birthday.

I turned 50.

Inside, I am still a 25 year old, I still have dreams, goals, and things I really want to do.

The regrets are getting less, am I forgetting more? No, just learning what has happened, right or wrong, yesterday or 2 years ago or even 20 years ago, is done. It is what it is.  As my brother said this weekend, the only thing we can change is tomorrow, by what we do today.

I joke and say, "I have only lived a third of my life."

I hope that is true.

I went to the cemetery with my brother (he came in from out of state), we saw your final resting place, and we had a good talk.  We are proud of you Dad.  You did well.

All you can really leave is a legacy, and yours is one of children following your faith, working, trying to make a difference in life.  Even though only one is active in the ministry, the rest of us are "socially" responsible.  We have a history of visting the jailed, feeding the homeless, caring for those that are less fortunate, even when we were hurting.

It is the right thing.

We learned to "suck it up" and "quit whining" and most important, to NEVER make someone feel excluded intentionally. There is nothing worse in this life than to be on the outside looking in.  You taught us the price to share the glory, the "prizes", and even the special days will only make us stronger.  The kinder we are, the stronger we become.

Kindness is a choice.

The more we exercise our ability to choose to be kind, the stronger we become.  The more perceptive we become, and the closer to Grace we live.

When we CHOOSE (intentional emphasis) to exercise selfishness and proclaim ANY reason (it's my birthday, it's my ...), we remove the grace and kindness from the moment. Wine becomes vinegar, sweetness is made bitter, and what should be life-giving becomes venomous.

The hardest thing about living according to a strong set of values is you may be the only one that adheres to these principles. It can be a lonely existence, but in your heart, you are strong.  You know what is right, and by standing on your principles, you will not only survive, you will be blessed.

I watched you in your lonely times, and saw you stay strong.  Sometimes it meant keeping quiet while the rest of the world roared around you, but you held fast.

When the faithful became faithless, when those we considered in spiritual leadership showed they were actually just religious, when the disciple became a pharisee, you did not lose your grip. You never changed, you drew closer to that which you believed in, you walked closer to the shepherd when the wolves dressed as sheep.

The lessons I learn from you now are not from your words, it is from remembering your heart, your intent, and ignoring your humanity.  You were just a man, just a guy, and you struggled with the same frustrations we all struggle with, words spoken in anger and sometimes deeds of the same.  But the heart never changed.

I always draw hope from the stories of David (Old Testament).  He was a man after God's heart, the musician, the poet, the sensitive one.  But he was a warrior, a violent man filled with pride and made terrible mistakes, but he was real.  He was unafraid to dance, to weep, to be angry, to do what he thought was the right thing (at the moment).

You told me long ago that you knew I was not afraid of consequences, that even as a young boy, I weighed the results and decided if I could live with the results of my actions.  Generally, i was willing to live in the result of my actions, good or bad.  You said you quit trying to correct me and started trying to guide me.  You knew if you could point me towards the right goal, I would never give up, I would pursue it forever.

And you quit worrying about me.

That was good.

I made my share of mistakes, but I still strive for the same goal, the same objective. In my wake are the broken pieces of mistakes, but along the way I have become stronger and tried to share the message, and the stronger I become, the kinder I want to be.

I turned 50.

Life just started...

It's getting better...maybe

I found some DVDs recently, they were used, but unlabeled.  I put one in, and it was a copy of the DVD I made to honor you during the memorial services.

Is it getting better?  This time I did not cry.

It was sad to remember I never really "knew" you until you were gone.  Everything I thought was you, was just my perception of you.  It was based on my relationship with you.

When we finally put the whole picture together, you were a pretty likable guy.

You have taught me more in the 6 months since your passing than I allowed earlier.

We are more than just the 1 or 2 dimensional image seen by our family.  So often those that love us the most, also constrain us more.  Somewhere along the path of life, we become demigods and create images of others based on our perception of what we think they should be.

And we never really know them.

They have dreams, fears, hopes, and tears.

But they can't have those - not in our world.

The box we create for them does not allow those freedoms.

The last box we put them in, contains all their dreams, all their hopes, but no fear.  The only tears are the ones we shed.

If we can just learn to see our loved ones for the people they are; the grouchy old man is a little boy that dreams of riding a bicycle on his own, the disabled lady in the wheelchair is a ballerina, the angry man was rejected, the shy young lady is a hero looking for a chance to rescue someone in need.

Take the boxes we created, set the images of each other free,  drop our demigod status and accept we are all the same.

I ramble...I do that a lot sometimes.

It's getting better...and I am still changing.

Here I am again...

It has been a while, and a lot has happened.

Your house sold, Father's Day came and went...and we survived.

I even found the ability to delete some of the email from you as I did a little "digital housekeeping."

There is a place in my heart that is still empty when I think of you.  Sometimes I try to remember all the things you did that made me so angry, and sometimes I can...not all the time...and it gets hard to fill that empty place.

I have been out to your grave a couple of times, I don't stay very long.  I remember going to the war memorials in Luxembourg when I was a child, and the view was similar to the grave scene in the movie, "Saving Private Ryan," when all you could see was headstones, as far as you were able to see.

It feels that way when I go to your grave.

So many headstones, so close together, so many Veterans.  It's funny, it almost feels comfortable out there.  These are the men and women I stood in line with to buy lunch, to go to the movies, to wait for you to get off work.

It is hard for civilians to understand sometimes...all we had was each other.

We were rarely in the same place on July 4th that we were at the previous Christmas.  We almost never had the same friends from one school year to the next.  All of life was ever changing, always disconnected, usually pretty lonely...all we had was each other, and we are less than when we started.

On this journey, we lost one, we lost you - our Chief, the Sergeant, our Guide in this wilderness of life.

We buried you where you fell, and you joined thousands honored in their service.  No great statues, just a simple headstone, one that looks like the others.  Not much different than the days of trying to pick you out of hundreds of other soldiers, all in uniform, all at attention, all proud to be serving.

So, here I am again...I was afraid you would "disappear" when the estate was settled, but you didn't, you are too much a part of who we are, why we are, and what we do.

It is amazing...you will never disappear.

On Father's Day, I saw my son with his sons, and I saw your legacy.  When I see your other grandchildren and your great-grandchildren, your legacy continues.

When my son talks about going to school and working full time and raising a family (all at the same time), it is something you did, I did, and there is a feeling of pride, knowing this is tough...but we did it, and he will too.

This our legacy...we serve, some in uniform, some on their knees, some doing both.

This is our legacy...we will never disappear.

A Special Day

To most of us (myself included), it was always the first holiday of the summer.  Not much value except to be out of school or off work.

A day of picnics, entertainment, barbecue, and whatever else makes for a great 3 day weekend.

I understand it better now.

Although you are not one of those that died that we may be free, you are one that lived for us to be free.
Your reward is the honor of your final resting place, and this day.

I know it was hard, to be away so much - to be in harms way, but you made it home, and we were blessed with you for many more years.

You have joined your comrades, a thousand salutes will forever be yours.

There will be tears of gratitude, and when the fireworks dance in the sky for generations to come, you will be one of those heroes we honor.

Thanks for serving, thanks for being strong enough to do the right things.

I understand it better now.

How great a teacher, that your lessons endure long after you are gone.

Sometimes I want to awaken from this dream, and like the Hollywood story we are all so familiar with, return to a day before all of this happened, and learn my lessons from the imaginary pain in the night.

This is real, and I can't make it go away.

This is one of those times it hurts...it will pass...I have to get busy again...stop slowing down...perhaps if I run a little faster, a little harder, work a little more...perhaps I can outrun the pain.

Time to refocus - no time for this.  I intended to honor you  by recognizing this day, not feel this all over again.

I'll be okay.


This I know, this I believe, that one day...I will see you again.

But until then, I will continue growing, learning, and healing.

Happy Memorial Day.

We are proud of you, and proud to be "of you."

One more thing...

Just one more thing to take care of, then you disappear.

Your house is scheduled to sell soon.

All that remains is what we carry in our hearts.

It is still hard to grasp, the fact you are gone.

Sometimes I wonder if I did enough, could I have insisted on different medical procedures, could we have saved you?

I assume all survivors go through this.

I no longer pick up the phone, wanting to call you and tell you the latest news; I no longer feel the heaviness of missing you...as often.

I still feel it...and I wonder...I hope...that you were "gone" at the end, that you never felt the struggle of those final days.

I found some videos of you, and it was so strange...you went to the hospital in December for a stomach ailment...30 days later, you were gone.  Although the disease usually takes 8 to 10 years to reach this stage, it appears you had been ill for a very long time, and we just did not know.

Sometimes that is the hardest thing to comprehend...you were so ill, and our lives were running at full speed, without any idea you were hearing the call to go home.

Perhaps the sorrow I feel is normal, the questions, the "20-20 hind sight" is par for the course...

Just one more thing...and all that remains is what we carry in our hearts.

I think that is best.

In my heart, you are still a young man giving me rides on your motorcycle...cooking out on the grill on summer nights...

In my heart, you will always be young, strong and smart.  I try not to remember the image at the end, the shell of a man.  Instead, I believe you had already left and were standing at the door of your mother and father's new home...calling them like you always did...

Smiling, and happy about going home.

Goodbye Dad, I will never stop missing you, but it is time to start running my own race again, and save my tears for when I am alone.

3 Months Later

It doesn't feel right.

This "new" normal.

This is not another TDY assignment.  This is not Viet Nam.  You are not coming back.

Little things happen, and I want to call you, talk like we always did, just to chat...but you are not here.

It doesn't feel right...but it is starting to...and I don't want it to.  I don't want life to feel right without you here.

I am glad for a few things - the images of the end are fading, and the healthy memories are becoming stronger; and somehow, I cannot explain, I have changed.  The things that used to irritate me and drive me up the wall just don't bother me anymore.

I am still growing.

As fathers, we don't always do the things we planned, say the things we were hoping to say, and act the way we really felt in our hearts.  All we can hope for is the message gets across.

It did.

You were not perfect, but you pointed me to perfection.

Like a relay, I was running before we ever had our final encounter.  When you passed the baton, I was almost at full speed, and could not look back as you finished your race - all I could do was run with all my might, all my heart, for the prize before me.

It's funny, you were a part of this race and now you are with so many others, cheering as we run.

Yes, it is different now.

But it will be okay.

As I said in the hospital - there is no time in eternity.  You will walk through Heaven's gates and turn around, and the lifetime we have here on Earth will be as a moment to you, and all of us will be together once again.

I am reminded of life long ago, you were such a young father, and you had 3 little boys counting on Daddy.  We slept peacefully, knowing you did the right things, there was no doubt in our minds, you were Daddy, you were Superman, you were our hero.

You never let us down.

So, like a little boy wearing Daddy's oversized shoes, I am rattling around here until I make this stuff fit.

Keep on cheering Dad, you set a good pace for us.

A Birthday...

It was your birthday recently...

I thought about it every time I saw the date.  A few times, I felt the sadness welling up, and I pushed it down...I tried to stay busy, too busy to think, too busy to care, but that is impossible.

You would have been 74.

I went to a new church on Sunday, and I was tempted to call you and tell you about it, that was so normal for us...

There is a new normal.

I called my brother instead.

The disassembly of your life continues, and sometimes the tender areas that were exposed through this "event" are hardened...like fresh skin, it is overly sensitive until it becomes as calloused as the rest of my life.

Life goes on...

My focus is slowly returning, the seasons are changing, Spring is coming.

Life goes on...with us or without us.

I am really glad I had this opportunity with you, I was there with you at the absolute "end" of this part of your life, and I watched you as you left us and joined your family and saints that were waiting...yes, I believe in a hereafter - something has to be better than this!

It's funny the things I catch myself doing - talking to the postman, telling him about my dad that just passed away, how you were retired Army and spent 30 years at the Postal Service afterwards - you had the first pick of all vacation time - 50 years of service is hard to beat!  I guess I still look for pieces of you everywhere, and I find them...

Yes, I find them. I find little things that remind me of you and I ache to talk with you just once more, to tell you how much I regret the wasted moments, the "Cat in the Cradle" times when you wanted to see me and I was "too busy"...

But I find other things too, I found the passion I thought lost.

I remember you working like a maniac when I was younger, your passion for detail, your drive to perform, the desire to be more than good - the pursuit of excellence, the pursuit of kindness.  I thought you lost it when you were so sick.

I was wrong.

At the end, it was all that remained.

I understand why you held so tightly to your passion, it burned with an intensity that branded you, scarred you, became a part of you, until you were inseparable from your passion, it was who you were.

I wondered how you could stand and face your death like a hero, and not be a "victim", but fight the fight of life, all the way until you knew the plan.  It was like someone whispered in your ear, "Time to stop fighting."

And you stopped.

As the disease took its toll quickly, your passion never burned out.

But you died.

I was there.

We buried you.

It was cold after you were gone.  We had unusually cold weather for this region.

Last week I went to your grave.  I saw the memorial to you, along with thousands of your peers, and I realized everything you ever wanted came true, even where you were buried.

Your life was full.

Your passion carried you, drove you to be the man I knew.

I thought your passion was gone.

I was wrong.

You gave it to me.

Somewhere, somehow, in one of those late nights when it was just the two of us, as you were dying and I was holding on to all we believe in, and hoping...in one of those moments when I did all I could, and all that remained was to stand...

Your passion became mine.

Now, it is in my heart.  I hold this heritage tightly, even though it burns with an intensity that scars and remakes me into something I fought so hard against.  Your passion, you father's passion, has become mine.

Happy Birthday Dad.

You did a good job, I am still changing.