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.

Stronger...but not harder

December 13, almost 12 months since your passing.

One year ago today I wrote about the end being near, and the doctor giving us our first indication that you might night make it. It was cold, bitter cold outside and inside.  We were in a daze, and the darkness was so thick, it was choking, all we could do was drop to our knees and plead for help, for mercy.

It came.

Not in the way we hoped for, but relief nonetheless.

No more struggles, no more fears, no more sleepless nights waiting for the hospital to call.

Relief.

Sounds so selfish.

Relief, like it was a task, a job.  That is not true.

Long ago in another life, before I saw death, I wrote about the task before us, how we stand behind the generation before us on this conveyor belt of life, and as the one before us nears their end, we are there with them - number two, supporting, holding, caring, giving grace and helping maintain integrity.

We did it.

We made it.

We have struggled with empty spaces this year.  Your birthday, Father's Day, Memorial Day, Veteran's Day, and now Christmas is coming.

But it is different.

Last year, I felt like I could not appreciate the holidays, the joy of Christmas, I almost felt guilty - having a good time as you were fighting to survive.  I knew I could not do anything for you, but I wanted to be there, in case you "woke up" - I wanted you to know I was still with you, that I was strong - like you needed.

I guess you knew what you were doing when we were younger, and you refused to coddle us.  You told me what a hard cold world it is, and how I needed to know what I believe and stand for it, even if it meant losing everything.  I watched you stand like that at times and the precipice was so close, I wondered if you would fall - but you did not.  When you did all you could do, you stood, and a divine comfort, a peace that passes understanding was always there, and you were always okay.

Always.

I watched a presentation at our church yesterday, perhaps the best I have ever seen.  It was the same old story - a Christian remake of "The Christmas Carol."

One thing stood out - when Tiny Tim passed away in the visit of the Ghost of the Future - Angels gently picked up his broken, tired body and like precious cargo, a newborn, they carried him into eternity.

Like a newborn.

Wow.

I felt like I was watching that moment in January, but this time I saw it differently.  I saw you carried by the angels, like a newborn, the most precious cargo, to meet your family.

It felt like broken places began to heal, the mortar of anger was washed away, and the stony places in my heart were softened.

And I am stronger.

I will always miss you, my father, my "Daddy." This year has been a great year of learning, and I think I understand...I finally understand.

We all make mistakes, some that can never be undone.  But we must never stop striving to be the best person we can be, to love - even when it is hard, and to forgive.  Only through forgiveness can we grow, and be forgiven. Only when we forgive, are we strong.

Stronger...but not harder.

Holding fast to what we believe, what we hope, what we know...yet remaining flexible enough to never condemn the questions of the broken, the cries of the hurting, or the mistakes of the fallen.

We all need a hero, someone that is not a comic book character - but someone shaped like a regular guy that feels pain, bleeds, and makes mistakes...and never gives up.

Thanks for the year of learning - I am on the right path...

Stronger...but not harder.

You can rest in peace Dad, it's going to be okay.

Peace, finally

It is December, nearly a year after you passed away.

Sometimes I still get choked up when I remember you are really gone.

But it does not happen as often.

Sometimes I talk to "you", like you are able to hear me, and it makes me feel better.

I know you are not here, and my limited theological training leads me to believe that you are probably unable to hear me, after all - Heaven is a place of joy and beauty, why would you have the opportunity to be saddened by life here "below?"

Since the last time I wrote, things have changed.

I am taking better care of myself, eating better, and exercising - I joined a fitness center and I am making every effort to undo the years of foolish living. I am determined to be healthier than I have been, and yes - healthier than you.

I guess the biggest change is inside.

I am sleeping better, no angry dreams where I am helpless, trying to save you.  No more waking up with a heaviness in my spirit. No more guilt that I should have done more.

I chose to forgive, and as much as I wanted to be the hand of God extended in wrath, I knew that would never end. There are no actions strong enough to settle the storm of revenge. Nothing will bring peace when it is done in anger. There is no pain I can inflict on another that will take my own away.

Revenge is a horribly dark chasm, and it gets darker and deeper and never ends.

The only freedom is in forgiveness.

I did not do anything "magic". I just made a choice, and I forgave.

It's funny, I really felt like you were proud of me, prouder than when I graduated college, prouder than when I got the great job.  This was something eternal.

The bad dreams went away.

My anger subsided.

And my fear of appearing weak was simply that - a fear.

Strength is not displayed all the time, but is held in reserve until it is needed.

I forgave...and as a result, I was forgiven.

Set free...

Really free.

I started a journey long ago, as an angry young man, without direction or focus.  Along the way, in my own "Pilgrim's Progress," I have changed.  Sometimes losing things that meant more than they should, and sometimes gaining things I could not comprehend the value of.

I feel like I am standing on a mountain, one of the many peaks you took us to when we were boys in Europe, and as I look out at the beauty around us, it is good.

Thanks Dad, you left enough markers and I found my way home.

I made it.

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...