Losing someone unexpectedly is one of the hardest parts of life.
There’s the ‘what if’ questions…
What if (he or she) was still here? What if I could’ve told them what I didn’t get to? Or what if I’d have been more present?
I wrote in PART ONE of this post that my dad, in his helpless, quadriplegic body, looked my mom in the eyes the day he died and said, “I’m so glad you’re the one taking care of me today.”
What if, like my dad, I looked at the glass as half-full, rather than half-empty?
What if I focused on the sweet memories I have of my dad? What if I held onto the time I spent with him, rather than dreaming of times that never got to happen?
That was nearly twenty years ago; I can still feel the sting of the pain even now…Goodness I miss my dad…
*This is part 3 of a 3 part series- links to parts 1 and 2 are located at the bottom of this post
Growing up I took for granted the idea of family time and commitment. We had many fun times, but I failed to place much value on our years together while they were occurring.
Winter of 1999-a few months after my dad’s motorcycle accident
I’ve managed to mentally revisit and collect the moments we spent together and I hold on to those precious memories now.
I can also identify our number one struggle as well. We believed in God, but we were far from a relationship with Jesus, therefore our family-dynamic suffered in following Christian morals, which led to lenient parenting. Often times I was absent—drinking and partying with friends. House rules and expectations were shallow for me; late nights and a selfish mentality were abundant. Mistakes and poor choices were high as I ran wild.
It wasn’t until I was married with three young children and in my mid-twenties that I recognized the hurt and brokenness in me. I thought I could fix it on my own and I tried for the next five years.
I watched as my mother, meanwhile, had found healing over my father’s death by seeking Christ. I remember relying heavily on her for wisdom during that trying period and she pointed me to Jesus every time.
As the years move on, I slip further away from memories of my dad. In this crazy, busy world I must intentionally reminisce of our times together or I risk altogether losing the memory of the sweet time we had together…”
October of 1983-mom, dad and I
*This is part 2 of a 3 part series- links to parts 1 and 3 are located at the bottom of this post
My father was not perfect, as no one is, but he was incredibly good to my mom, brothers, and me; hard-working and courageous and taking pride in caring for his family and looking after my epileptic mother. He struggled with drug and alcohol addictions for most of my younger years but eventually abandoned the two and in the mix found out who his true friends were. He began attending church regularly with my mom and us kids but soon afterward discovered an interest in an old-time hobby of his…
Dirt bike racing.
Summer 1999-Photos from top left clockwise: mom, dad racing, brothers, me
Since the races were on Sunday mornings our church attendance as a family declined, while race attendance increased. The end of my dad’s first race season came in October of 1999 along with the abrupt end to his new hobby. Our lives were forever changed when a miscalculated double-jump left my father with a broken neck—paralyzed and ventilator dependent.
Christmas of 2000-our last family photo
During that time my dad lived hours away in an assisted health facility for proper care. We visited him often, but tragedy would strike again not even two years after the motorcycle accident.
We brought my dad home to visit for the Fourth of July weekend, upon returning him back to his “rehab-home” I fell asleep behind the wheel. My father didn’t survive the car accident. I was just seventeen at the time, my dad only thirty-nine.
A life cut far too short.
In an uncanny way, that accident was a blessing in disguise—that morning my dad had told my mom he ‘didn’t like living this way, that he was thankful she was the one caring for him over the weekend, but he didn’t want to live this way anymore…’
Whew..deep breath..heavy heart..
That was nearly twenty years ago; I can still feel the sting of the pain even now…Goodness I miss my dad…
*Part 3 follows with the lessons and faith I’ve found since my dad’s passing
*This is part 1 of a 3 part series- links to parts 2 and 3 are located at the bottom of this post
I must admit with all honesty, and with a guilty conscience, that poems are not always my favorite thing to read or write.
I sometimes think they sound a bit gushy or sappy. Maybe it’s because in my daily language I don’t use the kind of effusive talk which is typically involved with poetry.
However—I truly do appreciate and respect the effectiveness in expressing and communicating deep thoughts through a poem, thoughts that may not have been conveyed otherwise. It’s for that very reason, I take advantage of the power of poetic writing. The idea of describing emotions in few words, in a simple yet meaningful way, is appealing to me, for sure. Regardless of how corny the words may sound at times, poems make for a great opportunity to share true passions, experiences, and feelings in a practical, heartfelt manner.
With the Father’s Day celebration among us, I took to honoring my dad (who passed away when I was seventeen) by writing a poem:
DAD
Hunting, fishing, camping, riding—
Things you loved to do;
Family and friends—
Loved being with you.
Thankful for the years together we spent, Blessed for how they went.
Home early you left to be with Jesus,
Some days I still search for reasons.
The Father of you and I—
Our Father in Heaven,
He knows our time here,
He knows when He’ll call us there.
It’s hard to understand,
Why He called you too soon—
But I have to trust what God had planned.
Those memories I have of you,
The Lord truly blessed.
Those memories I have of you,
Are no doubt some of my best.
Some days reflecting back on those years,
Leaves me in tears.
It’s hard to understand,
Why He called you too soon—
But I have to trust what God had planned.
His ways aren’t for me to question,
But His words are for me to rest in.
Our Father in Heaven had a plan
When he made you my dad;
He brought me to you
to share as a daughter.
The Lord knew of our fun to be had.
He knew all our family would do.
He knew you’d love us like crazy too.
So it’s hard to understand,
Why He called you too soon—
But I have to trust what God had planned.
Dad and I..I was maybe 4 years old here
As the years move on, I slip further away from memories of my dad. In this crazy, busy world I must intentionally reminisce of our times together or I risk altogether losing the memory of the sweet time we had together…
*Part 2 follows with my dad’s story and part 3 with the lessons I’ve learned as a result
He walked over to my “temporary” desk while I substitute taught and the words abruptly and nonchalantly spilled from his mouth, “my dad just recently died.”
Taken aback, I looked up from the top of my glasses and the pile of papers I’d been sorting to place a face to the small voice that had just offered me such matter-of-fact information. A young boy of about ten years old with light-colored hair, freckles, and a fair skin tone stood just feet away from me.
My mind quickly searched for words of comfort to give and with concern shown on my face the normal cliché consoling-phrase jumped its way out, “I’m really sorry.” …and I really meant it, but as I offered those overused words, my heart felt unsatisfied and desired to extend on the moment.
He walked over to my “temporary” desk while I substitute taught and the words abruptly and nonchalantly spilled from his mouth, “my dad just recently died.”
For His Purpose 