I Miss My Dad

Today is my first Father’s Day without my dad, and my mind is a whirlwind of memories. Some of them make me smile, and some fill me with a sad emptiness that is difficult to describe. The loss I feel is compounded by the loss I experienced while he was still alive. You see, this is the first Father’s Day my dad will spend in heaven but, like so many others, his transition from this life to the next began some time ago. And It was a difficult road to walk.

My father was the picture of what a hard-working man should be. He put in as many hours as necessary to be certain our family had all we needed and my mother was able to stay home to raise my brother and me. We may not have had everything others had, but we had more than enough. We also had the constant support of a man that was as proud as an earthly father could be of his children. Daddy taught me to play the piano by the ear for music that we shared and then worked to pay for my piano lessons so I could do more than he was able. While other fathers are absent from their family’s vacation memories, Daddy is in every one of mine. He was witty and fun – much more like my brother than me in that department – and I knew there would always be laughter when Daddy was around. There would also be faith. In the hard times my dad instilled in us that things always have a way of working out. He was right, of course. So many times he was right.

It all made the last couple of years of his life difficult to watch.

On November 1, 2016 my dad (83 years old at the time) chose to have elective knee replacement surgery. He lived alone, drove himself everywhere he went, and was still actively involved in the senior citizens ministry at his church. His knee gave him a lot of pain, and he wanted it fixed. I knew some elderly people never rebound from elective surgeries, so I was a bit concerned. Still, I had no idea my dad’s decision marked the beginning of the end for him. The surgery itself was successful. When it came time to do the work of rehabilitation, however, he seemed to be drained of the strength and determination that had marked his life. He did only what was required by the physical therapists during the daily thirty-minute sessions and went eagerly back to bed. I did not know this man. I struggled between understanding that he had worked his way through life, and was too tired to press forward, and the disbelief that my hard-working father had no desire left for hard work. It was confusing, frustrating, and desperately sad. He wanted rest and no pain. But life requires more of us than that.

After leaning on my dad’s constant support all of our lives, my brother and I became the parents, and my dad became the child. Just as he coached us to learn to walk when we would rather crawl, it became our job to coach him to work for the reward of living life to the fullest again. But no matter how much we encouraged him, our words seem to make little difference. He just did not seem to grasp the benefit of activity or have the strength of desire needed to try. With each passing day he grew weaker, and we watched with growing desperation as each setback mounted to become a hill he could not climb. We finally had to conclude that it was more important our time left with him be spent in peace instead of struggle. So we let him rest.

My dad reached the end of his road on October 19, 2018 – less than two years from the date of his surgery and ten days before his 85^th birthday. In that time we watched as a strong, proud, elderly gentleman become a bed-ridden, frail nursing home patient who needed assistance for every daily task. We were required to perform tasks we did not want to perform and make decisions we did not want to make. We sifted through a lifetime of accumulated possessions and rented out his home. We sold his car. And we planned his funeral.

There is a heaviness of heart that threatens to pull you under when you face such a trial.

I know. I have been there. Perhaps you have too, or maybe you are there now. My heart goes out to you.

Today at church as I played the piano for the Father’s Day choir, I realized that my dad lives on in me. My father’s life on earth may be over, but his legacy of hard work, faith, and fun lives on in his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I am not sure how it all works on the other side. I hope somehow he can see that his life made a difference. And I hope we still make him proud.

One day we will all gather together on the shores of heaven. My dad will again be the young man full of strength and smiles that I first met. That is the promised future.

Until then, my journey continues.