Today is August 9th. We closed on a house this past week and my internet is not yet working. I type on my phone at 11:30 at night not because I want to but because I have to. While there are plenty of things I want to write about and should write about they will have to wait.
One year ago today I cried. I am not normally a very emotional person- sad emotion (I experience plenty of other emotions, but sadness is not typical for me). However, my soul grieved deeply and I had sorrow deeper than I experienced before in my life. My dad was called home.
Still, one year later, I think I'm in denial. For the past 14 years I lived on my own, 10 of which have been spent with my own family. My father did not play a daily part in my life anymore. Yet he was always a short phone call away. He would usually answer the phone when I called the house with his typical "boo!" greeting. We would talk about politics, finances, or he would talk me through my latest electrical problem in my house. But the phone calls are no more. I can talk to him, but I don't get direct answers back.
While I might be in denial I grieve nonetheless. I grieved when we moved and I realized my new house needs a complete wiring update and I have no master electrician to do it who won't charge me for labor. I grieve everytime I wear the M.R. Ducks t-shirt I bought in Maryland last year. I grieve to know that my youngest son who was named for my dad only got to see my dad once when he was an infant. I grieved today as we drove down I-84, coming home from a family reunion and I remembered following a moving van driven by my dad during our hasty move from Colorado Springs. I grieve when I hear of missionaries from my area called to serve in my parents' mission because I know they will never be able to work with the best ward mission leader in the entire mission- my dad. I grieved today as I walked through a cemetery and thought of the headstone that will soon be placed if not already placed to mark the resting place of my father. A headstone I will not be able to visit every Memorial Day.
One year ago today I cried. I am not normally a very emotional person- sad emotion (I experience plenty of other emotions, but sadness is not typical for me). However, my soul grieved deeply and I had sorrow deeper than I experienced before in my life. My dad was called home.
Still, one year later, I think I'm in denial. For the past 14 years I lived on my own, 10 of which have been spent with my own family. My father did not play a daily part in my life anymore. Yet he was always a short phone call away. He would usually answer the phone when I called the house with his typical "boo!" greeting. We would talk about politics, finances, or he would talk me through my latest electrical problem in my house. But the phone calls are no more. I can talk to him, but I don't get direct answers back.
While I might be in denial I grieve nonetheless. I grieved when we moved and I realized my new house needs a complete wiring update and I have no master electrician to do it who won't charge me for labor. I grieve everytime I wear the M.R. Ducks t-shirt I bought in Maryland last year. I grieve to know that my youngest son who was named for my dad only got to see my dad once when he was an infant. I grieved today as we drove down I-84, coming home from a family reunion and I remembered following a moving van driven by my dad during our hasty move from Colorado Springs. I grieve when I hear of missionaries from my area called to serve in my parents' mission because I know they will never be able to work with the best ward mission leader in the entire mission- my dad. I grieved today as I walked through a cemetery and thought of the headstone that will soon be placed if not already placed to mark the resting place of my father. A headstone I will not be able to visit every Memorial Day.
Today is for you dad. I remember a few years ago talking with my dad who remarked he hoped he would live to see Jesus Christ's 2nd Coming. He believed I would probably live to see it, but he wasn't sure about himself. Many, including me, believe this event to be something that is not far off. I was dumbfounded to think that I would significantly outlive my father. After all, his own father, my grandfather, died when he was 57! While I sit typing this message on my iPhone I still am only 32.
One of the most difficult parts of this mortal life is that we do not all end it at the same time. People are being born and passing away all of the time. We celebrate the joys of our experience here and grieve at the sorrows. Yet even as some finish their journey, we must carry on- else how are we to leave a legacy for those who follow us?
Thank you for reading and indulging me as I grieve and remember my father and my hero. We miss you dad.
One of the most difficult parts of this mortal life is that we do not all end it at the same time. People are being born and passing away all of the time. We celebrate the joys of our experience here and grieve at the sorrows. Yet even as some finish their journey, we must carry on- else how are we to leave a legacy for those who follow us?
Thank you for reading and indulging me as I grieve and remember my father and my hero. We miss you dad.
