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| Me and Dad at the only book signing of mine he was able to attend |
Two months ago, my dad was put on Hospice. Dad died on April 5. His funeral was April 12. You may read Dad's obituary.
I miss my dad.
Proverbs 1:33 says, "But whoso hearkeneth unto me shall dwell safely, and shall be quiet from fear of evil."
This verse has proven true over the last days after Dad passed away. I sense a quiet in my spirit. A quiet that proves I did my best to reach out to Dad and love him even though we saw life a bit differently. A quiet that also proved he did his best to love his stubborn first-born.
During the Hospice period, we talked about Jesus.
I sang to him the traditional Gaelic hymn "Morning Has Broken," by Eleanor Farjeon. You may listen to the hymn here by Cat Stevens. I then sang the song with my daughter Jami at Dad's funeral.
The next day after I sang that hymn to Dad, he asked for me.
The following day Dad died.
To give history of our relationship, Dad and I took care of our large family after my mother became ill when I was ten years old. Dad would get me up even before the sun rose, so I could get us breakfast and to the bus on time.
My dad was a fun daddy. He played the harmonica as we danced about in the living room. We rode on his back as he bucked about to us off. We always fell off playing Bucking Bronco.
The song "Daddy's Hands", by Holly Dunn, is a near perfect song about my dad.
I married young and left home. Dad wasn't too happy about that, and I believe he carried the hurt with him for the rest of his life. These last five years, living close to him since my marriage at age 17, has been a healing time for both of us.
I miss my dad.
When my sister called to say Dad was leaving us, we jumped in the car and drove the hour to his home. I missed his last breath by twenty minutes. That shook me. I wanted to be there when his spirit left and went to the great beyond. God had other plans, and so I accepted that.
Our large family of siblings gathered together that morning, streaming in one by one. We prayed together. Sang together. We anointed our dad's body with oil and said our goodbyes.
I have no regrets. I grieved with a passion as the coroners carried Dad from the house. I didn't want to take the grief home with me. You know what I mean. The inconsolable grief that tears at your heart until you feel as though you may faint.
I still miss my dad.
Both of my parents are gone now. Us children are the elders. How odd.
I pray each day before I rise that God will continue to hold my hand, as my dad once held mine. Seeing me through this time of grief and loss.
I love my dad and he loved me.
Until next time . . . maybe you, too, can make right relationships that need righting.
