Gone, but never forgotten
Many of you know what a tough year 2015 has been for my family, beginning in January with my mother’s diagnosis of breast cancer and ending with the death of my father on December 4, 2015. If you’d told me five years ago, or even ONE year ago, that this is where my life and my family would be today, I’d have been shocked. I might not have believed you at all. My loved ones have been blessed with great health for the most part, right up until my dad started having heart problems in 2012. He was convinced that his heart would “get him.” None of us would’ve dreamed that stage 4 esophageal cancer would invade his body the way it did. So quickly, so viciously. He was officially diagnosed on September 28th and he was brought home from one of several hospital visits on his birthday, November 18th, and taken into hospice care. He wanted to spend his last days in his home with his family, surrounded by love and all things familiar. And that’s exactly what happened. I was only at my house in South Carolina for 6 days since November 1st. Every other day I spent with my amazing father, making memories, taking pictures, holding his hand and praying that the God we have all believed in and trusted would make his last time on Earth comfortable and happy. I feel like those prayers were answered. While healing wasn’t in God’s plan for Dad, mercy was. With the help of a wonderful hospice team, we were able to keep him virtually pain free for his last 16 days of life.
I know many of you feel like I’ve dropped off the face of the planet these last month–or actually this last year–and in some ways I have. Work has taken a back seat to the most important thing–family. But I wanted to share with you some pictures of what has pulled me away, of who has pulled me away. One of the most incredible men I’ve ever known. A credit to the human race. A blessing to this world. And now an asset to heaven. This life was never really his home, but he used every opportunity in it to make his mark, to leave behind a wonderful and lasting legacy, to tell others about his God and to leave his family better for having spent a lifetime in his care. I would not be who or what I am today without him, and my goal is to live out the rest of my days in a way that would make him proud.
I was always a daddy’s girl. I’m close to both of my parents in completely different ways. I always knew it would hurt to lose them. Hurt like nothing else has ever hurt me. But nothing–no amount of time or warning or expectation–can prepare you for losing someone you love so desperately.
This is us on October 4. We’d begun to get the inkling that he wasn’t well, but we had no idea what was coming. That was probably a blessing.
This is the Bible from which he read until the pages LITERALLY fell out and fell apart. It will be one of my greatest treasures. In it are the words that remind me always to be kind and generous, to follow Jesus, and to love others because I am loved.
I won’t share many pictures of him when he’d begun his decline toward death, but there are a couple that are so precious and cute that I feel like you can see a little bit of who he was by looking at them. One of them is this picture of him during his last hospital stay. They were giving him breathing treatments and he always held the tube like a big Cuban cigar. How many people can pull off “cool” in a hospital gown when their death is only a couple of weeks away? One that I know of. I called him dad.
This is the only other that I’ll share of his last days. It’s a 10-second video. This was taken the day after we brought him home. He was beginning to get confused at times and he’d been working on some old glasses of his. I turned around and he was wearing them. I asked if he’d gotten them fixed and this is what he did. I made him do it again so that I could tape it. (click the link to play the video)
This once-strong hand…
…held mine as I took my first steps, helped me up when I wrecked my bike, showed me how to throw a softball, and helped me grip my first gun. These fingers curled around mine when he walked me down the aisle…
…and they squeezed mine as I held them the night before he left this world. Those hands shaped worlds and offered love. They toiled every day of his life, helping out on the farm, working in coal mines as a teenager, completing classified missions as a young man, and providing a life for his family for the last 40-plus years. Now they are at rest. Now he is at rest.
There just aren’t enough words or days or years for me to tell you how precious he was. How precious he IS and will ALWAYS BE. And not just to me. He was not only an amazing father, but a wonderful husband for 52 years.
He was also a wonderful grandfather…
And a wonderful soldier, as you can see by the full military honors he received at his funeral.
I have never witnessed something more heartbreaking yet more beautiful in my life. Every moment of it, from the folding of the flag to the 21 gun salute to the playing of TAPS, was gut wrenching and perfect. I’ve never been more proud that he was my dad. I have video of it, and one day I’ll be able to watch it without crying for the whole day. But that day isn’t today. Or tomorrow. Or probably any day soon. The pictures I can look at, even though I’m bawling as I sit here typing this. But I want you to know how great he was. I want EVERYONE to know how great he was. I wish I could shout it from the rooftops. He was my father. One of the most important people in the world. And now he’s gone.
I’ll end with one of the most poignant moments of my life, certainly of that day, Monday, December 7, 2015. It was when the guard held to his chest the neatly, carefully, respectfully folded American flag that had adorned my father’s casket, dropped to one knee and, with bowed head, handed it to my mother. It was absolutely silent but for the light patter of rain on the top of the tent, and his words rang out like quiet drops of finality–the thanks of a nation for the sacrifices of a single man.
My father was a husband, an uncle, a grandfather, a church member, a soldier, a lover, a fighter, an intellectual, a practical joker, a friend and one of the best people I could ever hope to know. He will be loved. He will be missed. He is gone. But he will never, ever, ever be forgotten.
Rest in peace, Dad. I’ll be seeing you one of these days.
A special thank you to everyone who sent gifts and flowers and cards and words of encouragement over the last couple of months. It will take time, but I will make my way around to each and every one of you with a truly, deeply, sincerely heartfelt thanks.
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