It's different, very different

What a great day. The weather was perfection. Beautiful sunshine, occasional fluffy cloud, hi of 85* and fresh smelling air proved to be a wonderful backdrop to a day full of laughter and peacefulness with my mom. It was a feeling that I haven't experienced for such a long time. I have laughed, and I have felt peaceful since we have moved, but today I got to be with my mom. It is a different feeling, more complete.

First, the laughter. We spent the morning walking through some cute little shops with funky, artsy garb. We decided to check out a furniture store that was along the strip of shops. We walked in and were impressed by beautiful leather couches, large wood armoires, and unique pieces that were clearly not going to be seen in my house while my children are still living with us. As we moved through the well ordained rooms of furniture, I turned to look at this bedroom furniture. As I was moving to catch up with my mom, I hadn't turned my head to look straight ahead and walked smack dab into a post that was in the middle of my path. You know the big posts that hold ceilings up and are the beams inserted into large rooms so the foundation of the second floor is secure? Yes, that is what I walked right into. Then, because nobody was watching and it clearly was a moment to be shared, I sang or shrieked or yelled in response to the shock. In that split second, my mother was able to turn around and see me forehead to post. She started laughing, and I am sure I referenced the need to go to the bathroom or fear an accident if I didn't stop laughing. It was great.

We ate at a great restaurant and enjoyed well prepared food in a cozy corner next to the window. We felt very healthy eating a salad with chicken and a vegetable plate of freshly roasted vegetables. It was fantastic. The fact that the special of the day was 2 fried pork chops with a side of white gravy and french fries or mashed potatoes made our choice of meals even healthier. We passed on the special, and the chicken fried steak, and the monster burgers. Restraint and fear of a heart attack played a strong role in our decision making process.

What was really exceptional about today was being able to talk about my dad. I got to talk about my dad with the person who knew him best, and the person who knows me best. (Sorry Chris-maybe after 40 years of marriage I will be able to say you know me best. I hope so. That is, I hope for the 40 years of marriage, and that it provides the opportunity for both of us grow in knowing one another; and more importantly, accepting one another. We have a good start in achieving this mighty challenge.) It was different for us to look at things and think, "Dad would like this...", or "If dad were here...". I use the word "different" because it wasn't exactly a sad sentiment, but it wasn't joyful either. It was different than other experiences we have had. There was no wondering if dad was going to be awake when we got home. No wondering what he would like for dinner, or if he would be up for eating. There was no being able to hear him say, "Hey Rose." when we walked through the door.

It is a different time. There is peace in knowing he isn't suffering, but there is sadness and heart break knowing that he isn't here. I loved being able to hear my mom talk about this man that I knew as my father, but who she knew as her husband. We talked about the roles we each share as moms, daughters, wives, sisters, and friends. Though her husband, parents, and one brother are no longer here, she doesn't relinquish the roles that she has held. But, it is very different. So very different. It has brought me so much peace to be able to talk about my dad and to laugh and cry with my mom. We haven't really sobbed together, but the tears are just a fleeting moment from flowing. There is something so refreshing and calming about being able to claim this person as a part of who we are, even though he isn't here, at least physically, anymore.

Not sure if the manner in which my dad passed,is in any way representative of how he lived. But, it does brings some sense of framing and context to his time in this world. My dad spent his last moments with my mom struggling to breathe, in the midst of choking and losing large amounts of blood. It was a gruesome, violent, and harsh by my mother's account and by my own consideration. My mom had a deep sense that she would be with him, and they would be alone in the home they shared together. And, that is indeed how it happened. She wasn't prepared for the quick, invasive pain and suffering that would end his life. We all had seen him decline and begin losing his physical body. But he was unwilling to give up. He was unwilling to give up his job, his truck, his home, his family (not in that order I assure you). He had spent his life fighting. He fought his way through childhood; bucking the system and rebelling against the status quo. He revolted against his mom and dad, and he revolted against his teachers. He had tumultuous job experiences. He worked harder than anyone I have ever known, and had a personal expectation of excellence in his work. However, he couldn't easily accept or tolerate work environments that didn't follow the same high expectation. Bummer for my mom who had to deal with the fluctuation in income that that resulted when he got fed up, or when others got fed up with him.

It seems somehow plausible, that even into his last breath, he struggled. Can you imagine God's open arms welcoming him, and my dad turning away? He may have not have turned away, but I can imagine him standing proud, raising an eyebrow, and saying, "I don't think so.", or, "Not yet." But, isn't it like our gracious God, who knows far better than we what is best, to have taken my dad, despite with fists raised and rebellion on his tongue. Though the end was violent, and heartbreaking for all of us, God took him quickly; within moments of the initial gasp for air and realization that the end was here. God could have let him struggle and wear himself out. He could have let my dad go on until his body had deteriorated even further. Even worse for any of us would have been if my dad lost his mental capacity to keep us all laughing and guessing at how he managed to persevere in the midst of this horrid disease. It was about time for someone to put him in his place.

The greater likelihood may be God was standing with open arms that morning as my dad went to get his coffee. My dad began his obstinate, rebellious, stubborn retort and God moved aside to allow my grandmother, my dad's mom, move forward with the stern command, "That's enough Jim. Get over here!" And with that, my dad threw up his arms and went home. Much like my children have done to me when it is time for dinner or I have put a stop to their arguing and tell them to go to their rooms. But, luckily my dad isn't going to have his human mother reprimanding him. Nor will he have God criticizing my dad's rebellious spirit. He will have the glory and promises God has promised to those who love him. He will have his body, his mind, his humor, his cookies, his candy, and his coffee. My dad is whole. Though we still feel incomplete without him here, it is with confidence and assurance that we move forward. My mom is the living testimony of his life; the goodness, the heartbreak and the humor that my dad shared. We each have a part of him with us always. It isn't the same though. It is very different.