One for the road ...

I have thought very deeply about what I wanted to put in the last post on my site. I have probably rewritten this a couple of dozen times already, but I have finally came up with my final version. I have decided that since this is a “goodbye” of sorts, I would write about some of the defining goodbyes of my life. Of course, goodbyes are never easy, but within every final moment with someone, there is an opportunity to grow beyond where you are and mature through your grief.

Mama – My goodbye to her was when she passed away back in 1993 in our local hospital. As she lay there taking her last breaths on this side of eternity, I held her hand, moistening her skin with the tears that were flowing from my eyes. During those moments, I could not imagine life continuing for any of us without the person that had managed to keep us all together. But Mama slowly and quietly stepped away, turned back for one last look, and went on to a far better place. I miss her, but through her death and my grief came much needed growth and maturity for me.

Kaye – Our goodbye was a quick hug and a promise to “see you tonight” as we put away our Choir robes away after singing in the last morning service at Church. As she walked out the door that morning, I had no idea that I would never see her again. But a short time later, she was gone. This has been a very painful transition for me, but I continue to stay in the Choir and miss her standing there beside me. Through her sudden death and publicly sharing my grief has come a much closer walk with God and a deeper understanding of what death really is.

David – David was an old friend of mine from a different time in my life. He died in November of 2006 of AIDS, but since I didn’t hang out with any of my old friends anymore, I didn’t know it until this past January. David was a wonderful person on the inside and really wanted to change his life, he just lacked the ability to do it. When I visited his grave the first time, I couldn’t help but to wonder if he had the opportunity to change before he died. But mainly, I stood there and grieved for his death and wished that I could have been there to share Christ with him. I really don't know where he is. Through his death and my moments at his grave came a new found courage in letting go of the past.

Sherry - The night that my Sister passed away, I went to visit her in Hospice. As she lay there in the bed, I watched her try desperately to open her eyes and look at me, but she was unsuccessful. And so, in the quiet and low light of that room, I told her I love her, among other things, for what was the first time that I can recall saying it to her. I never quite understood God's timing for her death, but her nature and the way she wore this burden spoke volumes to all of us. Through her death came a much more intimate understanding of what childlike faith and pure humility really is.

And so we have reached the end and the time for this goodbye.

It seems strange and deeply saddening to think of there being some end to this facet of my life, to simply put this experience down and move on to the next thing, but I feel the hand and will of God gently guiding me along and I can do nothing but to follow. On a human level, it’s like taking an old friend to the train station and knowing you’ll never see them again. However, in order to grow and mature as Christians and as people, we must sometimes let things go. It is a fact of life that change is inevitable. Different paths and directions are a also a part of our Christian walk.

On the journey that I have taken this past 42 years on earth, I have learned that ultimately there is only one important thing, above and beyond everything else that we may encounter in our lives … and that is love. When you truly love another person, it can’t just be let go. However, It is something that, if we truly have it in our heart, will endure and go beyond the boundaries of this life. And if all else is failing around us, love can make it all alright. However, love is not just a feeling ... it is something far greater.

For me, it is a moment in time when I thought my direction in life would never change, and a look into a woman’s eyes from across a table altered my reality. Within that brief gaze was my instantaneous realization of what love really was and the first and only time in my life that I have ever truly felt it for someone. I realized that there was a part of me beyond the boundaries of what I believed about who I was, and that singular event set into motion the change of direction that would eventually lead me to Christ. It was a defining moment in my life and (as some close to me can tell you) is still just as relevant to my personality and choices right now.

When you really love somebody, it is forever. Love is more than a physical or mental action for us. Love is an emotion without boundaries and is purity from our hearts. Its presence has a cleansing effect on our lives and in our spirits. When it is real, it is just as powerful and defining after many years as it was when we first felt it.

True and boundless love is what Christ felt for each one of us the day the he died on the cross. He saw beyond all of our hurts and faults, and found a reason to die ... for nothing more than love for us. That volume of love is incredible to me and I am so very humbled by His unselfishness. I cannot imagine ever turning back.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." - John 3:16

I love all of you, but it's time for me to go. I'll see you when we get home. I wish you peace and love for your own journey.

"Thank you, Lord, for giving me this time to be here and for allowing me to share you with others. I love you so much.

Amen."

A man called "Daddy"

I have written twice about my Father since I began this website, but I have never really opened up about his death and I feel that the time has come to clear some things up and let some things go. It has taken me a while to write this, not just in terms of time, but also in terms of emotions. It is also very honest and shows my human side. This is probably going to be the most honest that I have ever been, but I am ready to open up and move beyond this in my life.

"A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance, But by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken." - Proverbs 15:13

This verse says so much about being conflicted ...

"Do not have two differing weights in your bag—one heavy, one light. Do not have two differing measures in your house—one large, one small. You must have accurate and honest weights and measures, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." - Deuteronomy 25:13-15

When Daddy died, I didn’t really know how to react. There had been so many problems with our relationship, and I had experienced so many different emotions toward him. I knew that I was sorry that he had died and that we had never developed the kind of relationship that we should have, but I wasn’t necessarily flooded with regret. I really didn’t know what to feel. There was a sincere sadness inside my heart upon seeing the empty shell of my Father lying there that first night at the funeral home: our first time seeing his body. Within me arose the wish that we could go back and make up for lost time. However, I emotionally realized and fully accepted the fact that he was gone and that a chapter of my life had ended.

My Brothers, on the other hand, were inconsolable and comforted each other with hugs and tears. I stood there, staring at the casket and the man lying in it, alone. He was my Father, too, and yet everyone in the room at that moment noticed the gulf that had formed between the two of them and me. I did not have any intentions of validating my manner of grief with them. It was mine alone, and I would have to deal with it. While they comforted each other, I would let them have their moment.

My lack of deep, profound grief was a two-sided story, though. First of all, I had no doubt in my mind as to where Daddy was going when he died. I knew that his heart was right with God and that he was headed for Heaven. I knew this simply because he had grieved so much over our Mother and wanted so badly to see her again. The people that knew my Father from Church had not seen the side of him that we had; the part of him that was buried with Mama. I also knew that if God could forgive me for the things that I have done, God could certainly forgive my Father. If nothing else, Daddy was sincere in his belief in God.

Secondly, Daddy and I had never met on common emotional ground. We didn’t get along for many years and the words “I love you” were never spoken. We just didn’t see eye to eye, and after my very rocky childhood relationship with him, we never really got to know each other. At best, we had become friends before he died. As Daddy got older, I figured that he didn’t know how to meet me in the middle so that we could truly have a Father and Son relationship. I think that we both eventually developed an acceptance of each other. It was enough for the both of us.

In what had been as nothing more than a moment in time when my Brothers acted as if I could not have possibly felt what they were feeling, were volumes of my life laid out for everyone in the room to see that night. That singular incident said more to those people than I would ever be able to express. I was excluded on most of the proceedings surrounding his death, my assistance or input not having been solicited. However, I did not permit myself to simply collapse beneath them, much as I had so many times when I was young. I will also not allow myself to be overtaken by resentment. God is giving me the opportunity to forgive and move on, and that is what I am doing as I write this.

The truth is that no one could have possibly felt what I was feeling. My grief was not based on how much time he and I had spent together, but on how much time we had spent apart. I stood there having to deal with and pray over 40 years of emotion, and having to find forgiveness ... not just for Daddy, but for myself.

"Then Peter came to Him and said, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven." - Matthew 18:21-22

"A foolish son is a grief to his father, And bitterness to her who bore him." - Proverbs 17:25

Before I left that night, with one last look at Daddy lying there in his suit, I realized just how far I had come and the degree of growth that I had experienced in simply being there to close out this chapter of my life. No one will ever fully understand what the volume of my emotions and experiences have done to make me who I am. Within my spirit ... my soul ... was age and maturity despite what anyone may have thought that night. I felt as if I had lived two lifetimes as I walked away from that casket.

Through my trials of growing up with him came more emotion, love, hate, joy, anger, and words than could be felt by anyone that had ever been around him. We were like fire and gasoline most of the time. He was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the hardest person to get along with that I had ever known, and yet, the easiest person to feel a kinship with ... inside our hearts, we were so much alike. I had hated and loved him, all at the same time, most of my life. I had been angry with him to the point of wanting to hit him, and to grab him and say “I love you” in the same moment.

Although I don't have many of his possessions, God in His wonderful way of showing us things, decided to leave me with traits and mannerisms that helped to make Daddy who he was. When I look in the mirror, I see him staring back at me as I look at my frame and manner of standing. And when I speak, I hear his voice. However, as I sit here opening up and releasing this part of my life, the tears in my eyes are mine.

Actually, I am glad to have this opportunity to get this out of my system. Sometimes, Even as Christians, we have to truly break down the walls of hurt so that God can get in there fix it. God will never force us to let Him in ... it is our choice. The Lord has had so many "messes" within me to clean up, but the Lord is always there to repair the damage. And He has.

For many years, I have struggled to grow as a person beneath the weight of my memories of a man called "Daddy". I can honestly say, at 42, that I love him. I can't wait to get to Heaven to see him so I can tell him face to face.

This writing is the best thing that I have ever done for myself ... and for him.

"For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you, with many tears, not that you should be grieved, but that you might know the love which I have so abundantly for you." - 2 Corinthians 2:4

I am finally a man.

Grandma's little white cup ...

"The memory of the righteous will be a blessing ..." - Proverbs 10:7(NIV)

There are very few subjects that I have failed to address here and few people in my life that haven't been mentioned, but my Grandmother has been one of those. It wasn't because she meant less to me, but she is a part of my life that is buried very deeply within my heart. It is also something that I haven't really talked to anyone about until now. The truth is that Grandma and her great faith taught me much and her memory affects me to this day.

When I was little, Grandma took care of me. My parents both worked everyday so that left me in her care most of the time. Although I only have misty memories of him, my Grandfather died when I was quite young. That event resulted in Grandma living with us in our drafty old farmhouse that we lived in. Within her bedroom was an ancient bed and dresser; the right side of the bed containing my Grandfather's pillow that remained on the bed. She told me once that it was "his side of the bed" and "his pillow", and that she didn't sleep there because of that. She missed him.

By the time I reached the age of seven, my siblings (all older than me) were sixteen at the youngest and were already giving in to teenage pursuits. Basically, Grandma was the most important person in my life ... the one I talked to, spent time with, and that watched after me. I loved her unconditionally and she could do no wrong in my eyes.

Grandma is the one that is actually responsible for my coffee-drinking habits. Grandma's coffee of choice was Sanka. Of course, she never drank it black; she would "fix it" with cream and sugar. With it's sweetness, It was probably closer to being a dessert than an actual cup of coffee. When I was little, she would occasionally give me a sip of coffee from her little coffee cup. The cup was old and white, with the word "VICTOR" imprinted on the bottom. She told me that she "started keeping house with the set of dishes that cup came from." I could only imagine how old the cup actually was, but it was her cup and she used it every morning.

Along with her coffee, she would have her customary breakfast that consisted of one fried egg, her coffee that she warmed on the stove in a little tin pot, and one slice of burnt toast. Every morning, Grandma burned her toast in the toaster and stood over the trash can scraping off the burned part with a butter knife. Almost every morning, Daddy would walk into the kitchen and say the same thing, "Mama, why don't you make yourself some more toast?!!" Every time she would smile and reply the same way, "this is alright. I'm just gonna scape off the 'burnt'."

As the years moved along, Grandma grew older and more unable to take care of herself. One day, when I was about 15, I was sitting in the living room watching TV during my summer break from school. All of a sudden, I heard a thud. I walked into the kitchen to find Grandma on the floor with her eyes closed. I didn't know what to think. I initially tried to wake her, but was unable to. After less than a minute, she began to open her eyes, and although I still don't know how I did it, I picked her up from the floor and stood her up at the counter. After becoming somewhat aware she asked me, "What am I doing here? Why is my arm hurting?" Inside of me, I knew that something was seriously wrong. She had obviously had a light stroke and had, in her fall, broken her arm.

What I didn't realize was that time was moving along and that things were never going to be the same again.

Within a short time, Daddy would place Grandma in a Nursing Home and my life would change forever. It didn't make any difference what my feelings were about her going away, it was deemed necessary. Suddenly, I was all alone in an empty house during the summer, and the love and joy that I felt when I was around her was gone. The house seemed empty and cold to me without her there. Although we went to visit her on the weekends, I missed her more than I could possibly express.

On a Sunday night in 1985, Grandma just went to sleep and drifted away. They told us later that she had a case of pneumonia and that had contributed to her death, but I always believed that she thought that it was just time to go. To know that she died alone is a painful realization.

That particular Sunday, my Dad and Mom had went to see her at the Nursing home, but I had decided not to go, thinking that she would be there the next Sunday. I was wrong, and she passed away that night. She had been there for me so many times and had shown me so much love, and yet I wasn't there for her. Because of my decision not to go that day, grieving was a long and painful process for me. It was very hard to move on emotionally. I really wanted the chance to say Goodbye to her, but she was gone.

Then, one night about two weeks after she died, I had a dream. In my dream, I was standing in the door of my old bedroom when Grandma appeared in front of me. With unbelief I told her, "but ... you're gone". She simply smiled and told me, "I just wanted to come back and see you, and I wanted to tell you Goodbye and that I love you." With eyes pouring tears, I threw my arms around her and apologized for not coming to see her that Sunday. I had been given one last chance to see her. The next day, I awoke ready to move on with my life ... and I have.

Her memory is something that I cherish. Her great faith in God is something that drives me to this day as I journey toward home. I remember very clearly that every night before lying down, she would sit on the edge of her bed and read the Bible that always sat next to it. I also remember seeing her praying and hearing her talking to God sometimes when she thought that no one was listening. I should be so lucky as to ever be as disciplined and as Godly as she was. She was truly a Saint.

The other day, I was looking through my cupboard when I came across her little white coffee cup; the same cup that she would give me tastes of coffee from. Of all of the material things that I have and have ever had, that little coffee cup means the most to me. Next to my Bible, it is the most important possession that I have. It serves a reminder to me of a person's unconditional love for me and a simpler time when happiness was just simply a sip from Grandma's little white cup.