It was a beautiful early Fall day, and my dad and I had travelled down to the Charleston, SC area to watch his grandson, my nephew, play soccer. My mom had passed away thirty-three days earlier. I didn’t really want to be gone from home that day but drove him down because he really wanted to go.
I’m glad I went, because that day would be the last time I would see my father in this life. During halftime of the soccer game, while my niece and I were coming back from the concession stand, my dad suffered a massive heart attack and died. Paramedics tried to revive him, but he was gone and suddenly I was without both of my parents. I truly believe that Dad died of a broken heart.
Here it is, ten years later, and so much of that day and the ones immediately following are still pretty fresh in my memory. I had lost my hero, the one I looked up to even when I was angry with him. Even though there were things we didn’t see eye-to-eye on, I still loved him and knew that he loved me. I see a great deal of my dad in me and even though I didn’t get the handyman gene,(that skipped me and went straight to Josh) I did inherit enough stubbornness to at least try. Sometimes I’m successful!
Over the past ten years, I’ve become more and more comfortable in my own skin, as my father was comfortable in his. I look back with satisfaction at the ways I am like him. It’s in those ways, now that I understand better, that I saw Jesus in my dad. Hopefully the same is true with me.
Beautiful Fred. Thanks for sharing.
You're welcome Bob! Thank you.