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Remembrances

Last week I wrote a story about our trip to Hereford to see my dad for Thanksgiving. He passed away the following Sunday. I've let the story sit in my drafts folder, unable to post it. In effect, I've just been afraid to talk about it, at least on the Internet where millions of people can see it (though the number of my readers is actually much lower than that). There's this nagging thought that if I can't do it right, I shouldn't do it. Well, that attitude's a crock. If something is worth doing, it's worth doing - period. Josh Claybourn wrote me to remind me of his experience of losing his mom (thanks, Josh), and reading it helped me to sort out some of my feelings. It takes considerable courage to lay one's life open to the Internet.

With just a little bit of cleanup, here's the story:

My sister Naomi and I were in Hereford for Thanksgiving, and were with Dad Saturday night before he passed away. I stayed with him late that night, reading and talking with him, though he couldn't talk to me. I read from the Bible, talked about Rebecca, and how growing up in a Bible-believing and Bible-reading home meant so much to us. I promised to pass on those values to Rebecca as best I could, and to tell her lots of stories of her grandfather. I went back to our hotel sad and discouraged. In hindsight, I think I knew the end of his life was near, yet I never wanted to say so out loud, fearing my words would come true. That night I slept restlessly, and something really weird happened. The alarm clock which was set for 6 am actually went off much earlier, about 1 or 2 am. I turned it off (or hit the snooze button), thinking it was set wrong or broken (it worked perfectly every other night). Then it went off again about a half hour later. This time I turned on a light, and made sure it was off. A half hour later the call came from King's Manor: "We've lost your dad". I think if I had gotten up with the alarm clock and headed straight there I would have been with him when he passed away. By hesitating, all I got was a phone call. I feel bad for that, I wish I had realized I had needed to go. People I tell this to tell me I'm reading too much into it, or that I'm overreacting, but it doesn't make the feeling go away. I feel bad that my dad was alone when he passed away. I'm sorry Dad - I'm glad I was with you the night before, but I'm sorry I didn't stay with you through the night.

Three days later, I was reading the eulogy, written by his seven children, in the church I grew up in. We wrote stories of experiences with Dad, just like we did with Mom last year. Most of us talked about how Dad led a pretty active life. He was active in Boy Scout activities back when I was a Scout. He loved hiking, camping and being outdoors.

My contribution to the eulogy went like this: Dad also loved his family, and especially our Mom. I got in big trouble when I scribbled all over a birthday card he had bought for me to give to her. He took me back to the store, and was so mad that he was driving so fast he took a corner on two wheels. I never saw him drive recklessly any other day in his life. He never liked it when he heard a boy call his dad his "old man". He didn't let any of the boys in our Boy Scout troop get away with that.

Posted by Joel Fuhrmann at December 22, 2004 12:25 PM