Thankful

It is quiet.

One of those moments when everyone is asleep but me, and I have been running in the dark for so long, the light hurts my eyes, so I shut them.

I have no pain, but I miss the beauty created for our enjoyment, and the moments of peace are as elusive as they were a year ago.

It is time to change.

Stop living in the winter, and come out into the spring.

It is time to forgive.

I have been angry.

I blamed your passing...your death...on her selfishness. If she had only taken an interest earlier, if she had just acted like a wife instead of a tenant, obligated to a landlord...

If ... If ... If...

Neverending.

Regret has tentacles that choke the life out of every joyful moment. Invisible fetters of anger that strip us of our dreams and leave us wandering naked and ashamed in the tombs of what could have been...like madmen confined to a never ending nightmare...hoping for someone, anyone, to rescue us.

That someone isn't coming.

So we are doomed, unless we know the secret.

Forgiving.

In my own wisdom, forgiveness seems weak, it is the thing I hate.  So many people think to forgive is to act like it never happened, to put yourself in a place to be hurt, again and again.

That is not true.

To forgive means you lay down the sword, you relinquish the "right" to punish someone, you no longer seek to be the hand that administers justice.  To forgive is to no longer carry the anger, and you move on.

This is hard to do.

But if I don't forgive, bitterness will take root and it will poison everything.

It is easier to stay angry, especially when you feel someone contributed to the death of a loved one.

I really believe that.

I believe her lack of attention to your condition, and calling us only after you got to the point that your liver was failing, contributed to your early demise. Could she have convinced you to see a better doctor?  A doctor that would start treatment earlier?

I did.

But it was too late.

Perhaps I am looking to blame someone, rather than simply accept the fact you are gone.

All I know, is I need to be set free also, so I know only one way...I must forgive.

This is a new thing for me, don't get too excited.  I am only forgiving her for her actions (or lack of actions), I am not some hero. I am just doing what is best for me.

So how do I make this fit the Title (Thankful)?

I started this on Thanksgiving Night.

I am Thankful you taught me how to think things through, and to forgive.

I know you would be more proud of me to be a man of peace than to be a warrior. I know you would want me to forgive, after all, you did it many times.

And for that - I am Thankful.

So I lay down the sword of anger, and I forgive her.

Now lets move on.

Peace

It really feels like a long time has passed since we said goodbye, but it has been only 9 months. Perhaps there is no coincidence the gestational time for a human is 9 months, we spend time preparing, hoping, dreaming.

The past 9 months have been different.

We have spent time repairing, removing, selling, and trying to find new dreams.

Sometimes I still dream of you, you are ill, and I am frustrated, I know you are dying but I can't stop it.  In my dream I am angry as I believe your wife chose to ignore your ailment, and it was too late by the time we (your sons) became aware. In my dream I am as helpless as I am when I am awake.

I want to blame someone.

These things don't just happen.

People don't die before we are ready to let go, there are still too many words unspoken, too many dreams never heard.

There is no one to blame.

When I stopped chasing the shadows on the grassy knoll and learned to say goodbye, I began to heal.

Unlike the fantasies we see on television or the movies, death is not honorable. It is rarely peaceful.  It is usually a wretched, horrible time at the end of a tear stained path.  The only peace we have at the moment is the fight is finally over.

And our hope.

We hope to see you again, we hope everything we grew up believing is real, and we hope so strongly that we live in those hopes, and our faith in the hereafter, in a God we cannot see but believe lives in our hearts becomes the reality, the substance of the things we hope for.

We have faith.

Sometimes I really miss you.  I can only assume that is healthy, and I am so glad I had the opportunity to spend time with you at the end and show you the man I became.  I am so far from perfect, but I am not the young man that heard his father say, "You are running full speed with no target in sight."

I have learned to control my speed, to "use my power for good, and not evil."

I am learning the value of Peace.

I remember one occasion, near the end, when you told me the most important thing was to have peace. I was in a fighting mood and that was the last thing I wanted to hear.

But I understand now, and I think perhaps you knew your time was short.

Peace is important.

I have learned something, peace is not the absence of conflict.  Peace is the inner calm when the storm rages the hardest.

There is a peace that passes understanding, it cannot be bought nor sold.  It is indescribable. and can only be experienced.  This peace enables us to bury the dead, and tend to the living.  This is the peace that allows us to continue living when our hearts are breaking and we have no faith, only hope.

This is the peace I have when I am awakened at 3 am, and I can lay down once again and go back to sleep.

A peace that passes understanding.

The feeling of being in the most calm place ever created, at sunset, watching the moon become more present as the fire of the day sinks slowly into a sea of forgetfulness.  It is the feeling that all is well, although storms rage inside.

I heard a story one time, and the hero said "Peace, be still" when men were fearing for their lives.
The peace came to the men before the storm was calmed.

This is where I have been the last 9 months, fighting the gales of indecisiveness, as the waves of hopelessness tried to bury us alive, but someone said "Peace, be still."

Before the storm was gone, I learned to stand with peace.  I could not explain it, but in my heart I was calm.

9 months later, it has been a time of rebirth.

You helped prepare me for this journey, and now I am ready.

In peace, with understanding, I will follow, I will lead.

Just talking...

My favorite musician is a guy named Bebo Norman.  I discovered him on one of my many lonely late night flights from Lord-knows-where, just trying to get home.

It was during those times, while plugged in to an MP3 player and squeezed between a cold window and a stranger that smelled like stale corn chips, I found a few minutes of peace.

The song "Never saw you coming" is the one I play over and over. 

The artist talks about being you, being me, the disillusioned artist, the faithless minister, the lonely one that slips away, the promise about to be broken, the lost leader, the beggar reaching out his hands...

And you came.

You breathed your breath in me and made me new - you are mine and I am yours.

I never saw you coming.

I never dreamed of running.

It is a great song.

In the darkest of times, when my heart was breaking and I had no answers, when the storm was at its worst, this song was such a help...it just felt right, I remembered who I was, why I was, and where I was going...

My mother is now in the hospital.  8 months ago, we buried my father. I don't think this is like that, hopefully, we caught it before it got worse, she is recuperating from dehydration and infection.

But she was groggy like he was, she was unable to walk like he was, and once again, we - her children, had to try to rescue what is left of this family.

I've been listening to Bebo's music once again.

I have learned the meaning of a scripture...

I hope my father is in heaven, I hope to see him one day.  I hope this so intensely, that my system of beliefs are based on this hope.  I live by this hope, and what I believe makes this hope real.  This system, this faith, becomes the substance of the things I hope for.

When I pray, I hope they are heard.

When I see answers, I know they were, and my hope increases, I keep believing.  When they are not, I am disappointed, but I keep hoping...

And I listen to Bebo again.

Those lonely nights on long flights seem to be a thing of the past now, but nights have become day and the prison of a plane is no longer "Con Air" but the endless conference calls and contracts that restrain us to this wooden instrument of torture called a desk.

I know I ramble at times, but I hope you understand...

If not, listen to Bebo next time the night is at its darkest and morning seems light years away. 

And hope for better times - they will be here...

The Race

This race we call life - it is not a sprint, it is the longest relay race ever.

We watch those before us, we cheer them on, feel their pain when they fall, and sometimes feel the sorrow of elimination when they are disqualified.

Yes, what you do on your "leg" of the race affects the whole team.

Funny, in this race, we are the only runners.

No opposing team.

No stopwatch.

Just us.

No defined distance, just a run - as hard as you can, with all of your heart, all of your soul, all of your might, until you can run no longer.

When the runner before us starts to falter, we match their pace, arm extended behind...waiting on the baton.

When we feel it slap our palm, we explode with a burst of energy that leaves the previous runner far behind...

And we never look back.

We run like they did, with all our heart, all our soul, all our might.

We run through tears, we run through age, we run through sorrow, but we never stop.

We know we are nearing the end of our run when the stands begin to fill; familiar faces of runners past cheer us, encouraging us as we run.

Breath becomes strained, eyes fog with tears, strength is a memory, running is all we know - a labor, no longer a joy, no explosive bursts remain, just a race.

The cheering increases, the crowd is on its feet, the air is full of the roar of happy spectators...

The next runner is poised, no looking back, arm extended behind

Waiting for the baton.

Waiting for you.

Don't fall, don't stumble. Stay in your lane. The team is counting on you to keep them in the race.

When you pass the baton, they explode away from you and the cheering is all you know...

You are complete, you ran the race, and won.

The baton is in my hand and my run has just started...

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.