First of all, thank you for being here. It is comforting to know that my Dad touched so many lives, and that all of you have chosen to come here and be with us as we celebrate a life, and mourn a passing.
Despite all of our advances as a society, all of our wisdom, and all of our accomplishments, finding some sense of meaning in death still seems elusive to us. Regardless of the God we worship, or whether we worship a God at all, death remains one of the few great unsolved mysteries of life. So, like most people, I have been trying to make sense of Dad’s death – of death in general – from the moment I knew how this one would end.
It may well be that, in our eternal quest for meaning in all things, we have overthought the meaning of death and it simply “is what it is” – the result of tragedy, or age, or illness, that is meant to be gotten through or past with no additional take-aways. That certainly seems to me the easiest explanation, but it leaves much to fate and little to the heart.
It may well be that death comes once we have fulfilled God’s unspoken plan for us. I find this idea to be soothing, it still leaves the question of just what God’s plan is for each of us. We cannot always know that, of course, and while God may know it still may be a mystery to those of us left behind. For those deeply rooted in faith, the knowledge that God is ready to accept the departed may be enough. I think it was enough for my father. One of my greater joys in my relationship with my father was the joy of watching him embrace faith relatively later in life. The fact that he chose to embrace faith here, in this church, with you and those who have worshipped here before, in a community of love and respect, has always been and continues to be of great solace to me. From a faith perspective, I know that Dad had reached the point where he believed he had fulfilled God’s plan for him, even though he may not have known what it was, and that he believed that he and God were ready for him to take the next step in his journey. For me, I believe that to be true; yet, I still seek meaning.
It may well be that death serves simply as an opportunity to gather together and review our memories, hopefully latching on to one or two that are so special that the thought of them will sustain us through times of sadness or uncertainty. I have so very many of those memories, myself. I remember his patience when I would break windows with hockey pucks or get suspended from school or end up at the emergency room after another school-boy prank. I remember him playing board games or rod hockey with me for hours on end. I remember his grace and fortitude in dealing with some of the curveballs that were thrown his way. I remember his laughter. I remember the looks of joy and love in his eyes as he held his grandsons for the first time. I remember his wisdom in advising me along my own path into fatherhood, cautioning me to learn from his mistakes and to forge my own path. I remember his stubbornness, his honorability, the way he was able to let many of us know with great truth that there were always two approaches to every problem – his way, and the wrong way. I remember so many things that many of you may not know: his singing voice, his deep love of animals, his childhood regrets, and just how far he came on his own personal journey toward contentment over the course of the last 30 years. So many of you were kind enough to share some of your memories of Dad with me on Thursday night, and before I conclude I would like you to just take a moment and find those few good memories of my Dad that you will latch onto and keep in a sacred place.
For me, these memories will serve to sustain me through the grieving that is to come, yet still I seek meaning. At the end of the day, I wonder if death - this death - is not simply a reminder for the living to live our lives with greater attention to some of the principles we all know to be true. My father was a very reliable and trustworthy man who always followed through on his commitments; perhaps we can use this as a reminder to bear up under the weight of our own responsibilities in a more positive and giving manner. My father certainly had regrets about his health, and how some of his choices may have impacted that; perhaps we can use this as a reminder to treat our own bodies and minds with greater respect so that we may keep the vessels of our spirits in good shape for years to come. My father was honest, sometimes shockingly so, but always forthright and authentic; perhaps we can use this as a reminder to be truthful and direct, to avoid pettiness and gossip, and to treat others – and ourselves – with the respect and compassion. When moving about became difficult for him, my father was able to make an enjoyable life for himself through things like coin collecting and the online relationships and community that went along with that; perhaps we can use that as a reminder of the benefits of industry, of community, of thinking positively rather than wallowing in self-pity.
But perhaps I have been looking at this all wrong. Instead of searching for meaning in his death, maybe I should be searching for meaning in his life, for clearly his life was full of purpose and meaning. Let me share with you an example from his recent past.
During a phone call we had in May, my father told me about a trip he had just taken to New Orleans. I was stunned; I mean, my father had not been able to travel for some time, and had been weakened by cancer and the subsequent treatments. But he made all of the arrangements himself, getting to and through airports and on an off airplanes to meet a friend of his, Jose, that he had met online. Eventually, he revealed to me that in addition to their love of coins, they shared another special bond – Jose was born with Spina Bifida and had been confined to a wheelchair his whole life. My father told me about how they had met, and the fellowship they experienced during Dad’s trip to New Orleans.
What my father left out was the fact that they had a deep relationship, and that my father had actually helped Jose purchase a specially-equipped automobile so he could get around. I learned that only after my father’s death, when Jose sent me a note that included the following passage:
Your dad was like a spiritual father to me. I was very fond of him, when he came to visit me, it was the happiest day of my life. My real father was never close to me, and when your dad and I became friends, we shared a bond. He was the father i never had and wanted, Ive been crying all day today because i loved him so much. But I feel comforted to know that God now has him in his arms, Your dad is not suffering anymore, he is rejoicing in heaven, I hope we can keep in touch with each other and get to know each other. Your dad left me his stuffed Raccoon SCOOTER and ive been hugging him alot today.
When I think of my father, this story really captures his essence. Understated and unspoken compassion, humility, a willingness to help and comfort, the thirst for connection. THAT has meaning, THAT has impact, THAT has lessons for all of us, and THAT is certainly spiritual. Leave it to my Father, in death, to provide such lessons for us. Thank you for being here, thank you for the support you are giving to Ann, and for the love you had for my father. It meant the world to him, and thus to me.
