That was My Father

as read at my father's Memorial Service
"A Celebration of Life"
Saturday, May 29, 2010

The Monday after my father came home under the Hospice program, I was awakened by him calling out to me. I had slept on the couch, as my mother and I were taking turns being with him at night. He was calling out to me, “Sweetness, Sweetness, Sweetness…” That was my father.

My father was the one who, even though he could get sick himself, slept on the sofa bed with me when I was sick as a kid because I didn’t want to be alone. That was my father.

My father was the one who use to take me fishing at night as a kid. Then we would fall asleep on the couch together watching old black and white Frankenstein movies. That was my father.

A very close friend of mine recently told me that she use to watch my father with us and would admire his love and closeness with us. Many of my friends said this to me over the years, but that was my father.

During winters, my father would build the biggest snow forts with me and my friends. All of my friends came to my house to build forts with my dad. One year he broke his ribs building one for us, that’s how big it was. That was my father.

My father was very patient and enduring of people that most would write off. My father never gave up on anyone. That was my father.

My father was the one you could call in the middle of the night, no matter what, and he would come, regardless of what you needed. That was my father.

A couple of years ago, during winter, my friend and I were driving down Freedom road. I hit some black ice and spun my car into a guard rail, popping my tire. I called my father who had just sat down to a wonderful steak dinner and asked him if he could help. My father left his dinner on that table and drove over and changed my tire in the cold with a big smile on his face and never once complained. My friend was amazed that he had not one complaint but instead asked us if we were ok and then offered to follow us home. That was my father.

My father was not perfect. He was a servant of God, and he taught his children to serve him. He was patient and kind and loving. He taught people how to know Jesus. His passion in life was to be a good pastor, and to show people how to walk with the Lord. He dedicated his life to helping people. At times, he sacrificed and went without in order to do that. That was my father.

One of the last things that my father said to me was, “Grow old.” He was not able to speak very well towards the end of his life. “Grow old,” he said. Keep living after I go home. Live your life and fulfill your dreams. As I sat there watching him, I remembered a conversation that we had when I was very little. He told me once, “I will not always be here to help you baby. Someday, I will pass away and go home to be with Jesus. Jesus will always be here for you. When you need something look to him, and he will be there for you.” That was my father.

I miss my father. I know that it’s ok to cry, and I know that he is in Heaven now watching us. I will mourn him, but I will also honor what my father taught me. In his last days with us he laid in a hospital bed in our living room. Through the entire cancer treatment process, he never asked, “Why me Lord,” and he never complained. He suffered until his very last breath, and yet, he remained faithful to the Lord. That was my father.