Coming back to Steemit now after a very difficult couple of weeks. My last post was 17 days ago. It feels like much much more. The last 17 days have been a heavy weight on my being.
My dad passed away on August 31, 2018. I was by his side as much as I could be in the last days. It was very difficult to see him suffer like he did. His body was burdened by Diabetes, A couple of Strokes, and Parkinson's Disease.
This event of losing my dad has been the hardest thing I've endured emotionally. Prior to this I have lost all my grandparents. Losing them was sad, but somehow felt "normal". I cried, but didn't feel the heavy weight that I have felt by losing my dad. I don't know how to say that in a way that sounds sensitive and nice, but it's how I have felt.
On the morning of his death I was in his house to see him laying in bed before his body was carried away. That was miserable. Seeing him later in the casket was extremely difficult as well. My dad was my superman. He was strong, intelligent, and kind. He knew how to take a punch, and roll with the difficulties of life. I admired him so much.
Can You Live With Me For 50 Years?
That was the question that my dad asked my mom when he proposed to her over 50 years ago. Ironically he was buried on their 50th anniversary.
Last Friday morning we gathered at the graveside for a short service. It was nice to have a group of people there that cared about my dad and us. The rain steadily fell making the ground soft. This proved to be a challenge later when we carried the heavy casket to the grave. The service was full of emotion, but nice in a way to express our feelings of dad. My sister is a minister, a chaplain that works with hospitals and hospice services. She helped us all by being the leader in how the service would be conducted. She asked each one of us five kids to share some thoughts during the service.
I'd like to share my story here with you.
this is what I wrote to read at the funeral service
I come from a family of men that have never needed much permission, or much of an audience, to talk. Whether it's preaching, teaching, debating or just telling stories, the men in my dad's family never refused and opportunity to be heard. I'm not so sure I really inherited that gene, but today I'll do my best in the few minutes I have here.
My dad was actually pretty good at telling stories. He told his story of a childhood growing up in the Hoosier state, Indiana. As I've heard him and his brothers say they didn't have 2 nickels to rub together, but they had each other. It was the family bond that got them through hard times.
Some of the stories were exciting to me like those that told of their adventures running through the hills and woods of Southern Indiana, hunting, fishing, fighting and just being boys. Other stories were heartbreaking like when, in school, my dad never had the nickel to enjoy the carton of milk like the rest of the kids. Those that did not have the nickel had to put their head on the desk while the other kids enjoyed their dairy snack. My dad laid his head down more times than not.
It's those stories that helps me to understand who my dad was, where we came from and what it is that we place value on. There are other stories of a dad that wasn't always kind... my dad's dad. As I understand it he was a troubled man that held little respect for his kid's feelings and didn't always treat their mom very well. My dad and his brothers were taught to fight and to endure pain. They got to witness their mommy hurt and crying. But, rather than linger on how tragic these stories are I'd like to point out how great God is. You see, my dad and all his brothers could have easily taken this behavior that was modeled to them and applied it to how they raised their kids, but by the grace of God, A GRACE THAT WAS TAUGHT TO HIM BY HIS MOTHER, he was able to break the cycle of abuse. My dad learned to love.
The bible tells us that everyone has sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God. My dad was no exception. I know he made mistakes, he had faults... but overall he was driven more by love than by anger, fear or hate. We were raised in a good home filled with imperfection, but raised by parents that wanted to teach us to serve others and to know God.
Today, even though I do like to retreat into myself sometimes and to not share to much, I have learned to enjoy stories and the connection that they create between people. On social media I've pronounced that every person has a story and every story counts. My dad had a large part in helping me to understand that.
Thank you dad for being a servant to your family and the people around you. Thank you for never being shy To tell your story. I love you.
Here are some of the family members that attended the funeral, then gathered at the church for a dinner.
Thank you for being patient with my absence as a creator on YouTube and here on Steemit. I love this community, but so much needed time away. My return to creating content will probably be slow.