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Presence: Thanks For Being There
It was seven years ago today that my sister called me, just after 6 in the morning, to tell me that my father had died. We knew it was coming, but I hadn’t expected it just yet. The next few days were a blur as I packed my funeral suit (fortunately it still fit), headed down to Mom’s house, met with the funeral director, and agonized over exactly what I would say in the eulogy I had promised.
I’d been through this kind of thing before, most notably with my wife’s mother, so I already knew the surprising truth that sadness and happiness can coexist. The family gathered in grief, but there was also a lot of laughter as we shared memories of Dad. It wasn’t really until later that I started to think about what this was going to mean for my own life.
During my childhood, Dad had been a reliable presence, always there for us; after I became an adult I still relied on his wisdom. Over the years I gained confidence in my own decisions, but even then there was something comforting about knowing that he was there to give his advice or help if I asked for it, even if I rarely did anymore. If nothing else, on some level I always sought to live my life in a way that would merit his approval, and I like to think I have done so. Now I had to wonder: what would it be like to live in a world that didn’t have him in it? Would I feel unmoored, adrift, without his watchful presence there at the periphery of my life?
So it is strange to realize, seven years later, that I had it wrong. Remarkably, I find that I am not living in a world that does not have him in it. The truth is that he did his job well. He helped to give me a safe and secure childhood, set an example for me to follow, gave me his guidance when I needed it, and then did what a parent is supposed to do: he stepped back and watched me go off on my own. For years, longer than I’d realized, his presence in my life was mostly in what he had given me. Much of who I am is an echo of him, and even now I still seek to conduct my life in a way he would be proud of. I am still following the course he set me on.
I am sure my mom still misses him every day. She still lives in that house, where there must be many constant reminders of his absence. But I simply cannot convince myself that he is gone, because he’s not. This isn’t denial, or some poetic metaphor: the most important parts of what he meant to me are still here. The things he taught me, the example he set, the memories he helped create, and the satisfaction I feel in having lived up to his hopes for me.
In the eulogy I delivered at my father’s funeral, I talked about how he had always been there for us when we were kids. He was never too busy for us, and he never failed to provide everything that a father is supposed to provide. But I did not realize, even then, that his work wasn’t finished: that he would always be there for us. I said it in that cemetery seven years ago today, and I’ll say it again now: Thanks, Dad.
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Beautiful post. Worth waiting for. Thanks, BXO.
He lives on in you – your very DNA, so you are right. That was a beautiful example of a father who loved his family and he loved them. There are so many kids who have the absentee father, through no fault of their own. Fatherhood and motherhood were designed by God, and they raise new generations to love. God bless your dad.
A beautiful and moving post. Thank you.
I couldn’t say anything better about my father than you do about yours. I only hope my children can say the same about me. My dad has been gone since 1974 and I still think about him practically everyday. We won the parent lottery. Great post.
You got that right. We did. The sad thing is that it wasn’t until I was an adult that I even understood how lucky I was. That’s the irony: my parents did such a good job that I took them for granted, assuming that all parents were the same way. My wife was similarly lucky, and it wasn’t until she got a job at a public school that we really started to understand how good we had it.
I don’t know what your actual voice sounds like, Susan, but for the last few days I have been hearing it in my head, urging me to post something. Well, it worked.
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Simply beautiful, and just what I needed to read this morning. Thank you.