Dad. Daddy. Papa. Father…..

Just Thinking….

I always wondered what I would be like when one of my parents would die. Would I go to pieces, be in hysterics? Would I be numb, withdrawn? Would I give up on life, or ignore the event?

Two weeks ago today, my dad died. I reacted in none of the above ways. But it has taken me two weeks to write about this very important event. It’s taken me two weeks to sit down and do paperwork and business that was past due. It’s taken me two weeks to get my life somewhat back on schedule. I have not dissolved into tears, although some trickled down my cheek. I didn’t scream or cry out or pull my hair in despair. But I find myself staring off into space at times and realize that I don’t know how much time has passed while I was mentally somewhere else.

We all grieve in different ways, and it has always irritated me when others judge how we grieve. My sister lost her son to cystic fibrosis, and she had a very tough time with that. Some folks expected her to “snap out of it” and get back to normal. I tried to explain in my very uneducated way that some just don’t snap out of it on a timetable. There was no set schedule for when grieving must be done, let alone trying to figure out what is now the new normal. I’m so grateful that no one has criticized how I am grieving…. at least not that I know of.

Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. (1 Thessalonians 4:12-14 )

My faith has given me hope. And I know my father’s faith. It was as imperfect as he was, but it was perfectly based on the ONE who is perfect. So I have every confidence that my dad is in Heaven. I have the hope of seeing him again. It’s not hope as in “maybe”. It’s an entirely different kind of hope, as in “looking forward to”. How can I possibly be in despair at knowing, not guessing, he is no longer in pain, no longer suffering dementia?

What I do feel is an emptiness in part of my life. There’s a void that was once filled with my father. Only two weeks, and already I see something or hear something and think, “I’ve got to tell Dad about this; he’ll love it.” And then I remember.

During the visitation at the funeral home, a fly landed on Dad’s face. I actually started to call out, “Dad! Don’t you know there’s a fly on your cheek?” And then I remembered.

It rained yesterday, breaking a long dry spell. Dad was a farmer, and the rains were important to him. I started to think of Dad standing in the doorway of the barn, looking out at the rain. And then I remembered.

There will probably be a lot of those Dad-shaped moments coming up. I will probably grieve in my own way during those times. And it’s OK. I’m not grieving without hope.

But I miss you, Daddy. It’s been a long two weeks.

Father, I am blessed with faith and hope and absolute knowledge that death is not the end. Praise to You, Almighty Father, for the gift of Your Son, who died and rose that we might live forever. O grave! Where is your victory? O death! Where is your sting?

To God Be The Glory….
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Published in: on July 23, 2013 at 4:12 am  Comments (1)  
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  1. So “spot on” is this blog. You don’t grieve then move on….you spend moments grieving for the rest of your life. “I need to ask Mom…” – moment of grief. “I remember when Dad….” – moment of grief. “I wonder if Mom…..” – moment of grief. Or is it rather a moment of fond remembering. Either way, thank you, Jesus, for having these quiet, interludes of thinking of and remembering those whom we have loved and lost. But not truly lost….just waiting at the gate for us to join them some sweet day.


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