Rarely a day goes by that I don't think of him at least once. Yet, during this time of year, I'm particularly mindful of him, especially as the anniversary date of his death approaches. I am so thankful for the amazing man he was and for the incredible Godly influence he has been to me and countless others. Although he's gone from our lives, sadly life has to go on, with gratitude for past memories, yet sorrow, that he will never be a part of future memories yet to be made.
I can't believe it's been nearly six years. Several young married couples from our church had decided to rent a condo in Sunriver for the weekend. Excited about the upcoming events, we packed early Friday evening, picked up another couple and then headed out. We arrived late that evening, spent time socializing with the others, and knowing we had a full agenda planned for the next day, we finally, after midnight, retired to our rooms.
Sleep eluded me; I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, I was so restless. Finally, exhausted, I was overcome by sleep..
The next thing I heard was a faint ringing sound, ring, ring, ring. I could hear a telephone. Who would be calling this early? Then I heard a knocking sound, someone was knocking at our door, knock, knock, knock. Kris, still half asleep, stumbled out of bed to answer the door. Mumbling, then silence, a deafening silence.
I felt in my heart that something was terribly wrong. I didn't recall giving our number here to anyone. Why would they need to speak to Kris? I heard footsteps approach just outside the door, and then it opened. When I saw him I knew. Yes indeed, something horrible had happened. Shoulders slumped, fresh tears in his eyes. Kris leaned down and spoke to me with a sense of urgency. "Laura, you need to get up, get out of bed, get dressed, and pack up, so we can go home."
"What do you mean, what happened? I asked. With an even greater sense of urgency and foreboding, more insistent than before, he repeated his words.
"Laura, you need to get up, get out of bed, get dressed and pack, so we can go home."
By now, I was wide awake, not quite understanding. Hysterical; tears began streaming down my face and I pleaded with Kris to tell me what had happened. I think, he somehow hoped, that if he didn't tell me right then, I would blindly go with him. He knew better.
With a sad heart, he spoke the words, "Laura, listen to me." I looked into his eyes filled with intensity and saw undeniable pain, and misery. For a brief moment I felt his pain, knowing that if he could be anywhere else but here, right now, he would. Only, he couldn't. He would have to be the one to deliver the heartbreaking news which would devastate the woman he loved. I attempted to brace myself for what was to come.
"Laura, your dad had a massive heart attack last night and died." Just like that, the words were out. "Oh God, oh God, no Kris, no. You must have heard it wrong, it can't be true." He continued with tears in his eyes, " they did everything they could to resuscitate him, but they couldn't bring him back. Laura, honey, I am so sorry."
The full impact of his words penetrated my soul; for a second I couldn't speak. I felt the acrid taste of bile rising up in my throat and for a moment I couldn't breathe. The emotional pain was unbearable, excruciating. Then, from somewhere deep within the recesses of my being, came the most horrifying, gut wrenching, anguished sound imaginable. It was a cry of such deep utter misery and despair, filled with the feeling the world would never be right again.
Kris sat down next to me on the bed, tenderly holding me in his arms, for as long as I needed. A continuous fountain of tears drenched me and him, as I sobbed, and sobbed.
Finally, by some miracle, I was able to move. Over and over, in a trance like state, I kept repeating the words, “My daddy’s dead, my daddy’s dead, my daddy’s dead, my daddy’s dead.” It’s as if, somehow, by saying it continually, my father's death would become more real, more believable, to me. Still in a state of shock, step by step, I moved forward. Kris, in emergency mode, quickly packed our bags, while I went to the bathroom, got dressed, gagged on a bite of tasteless eggs, and choked down my daily medication. Then, before we left, the couples gathered around us, gave their condolences, and prayed. As I look back to that day, I couldn't think of a better place to have heard such difficult news. Despite my grief, I felt unconditional love, and incredibly blessed.
With tears that never seemed to end, tucked safely in our car, protected from the stormy elements outside, we began the long drive home. Several miles into our trip, Kris, overcome with emotion, blinded by his own tears, pulled over to the side of the road. There we were, just the two of us, cradled in each others arms, both of us sobbing, grieving the loss of someone we loved so dearly. Each the others life support, I believed that if I were to let go, I would cease to breathe. Outside, a howling wind and the torrential downpour seemed to reflect the internal emotions going on inside of us. It's as if God Himself were there with us, crying tears of empathy, feeling our immense sorrow and overwhelming pain. After awhile, reassured, and feeling safe to let go of one another, we continued on our way. I spent the remainder of our drive, thinking about my dad, reflecting on his life. Many questions loomed in my head regarding my dads death, why, when, and how could this happen. He was in the prime of life. By all accounts, my dad seemed healthy; he ate well and exercised often with so much more life to live, to give. He was sixty-four years young for goodness sakes. I remembered a card, placed lovingly on the front of the fridge in my parents’ home when they celebrated thirty-five years of marriage, my dad bought my mom roses. The card insert read, “Looking forward to the next thirty-five years, all my love, Nitch.” Nitchie was a term of endearment my parents called one another, meant solely for them. How could this have happened? Why did he die? It wasn’t fair. My parents, devoted to one another, were supposed to be together for another thirty-five years.
Just the night before, we had seen him, his jovial self, with laughter in his eyes; he had just finished cleaning out his car. Then, with a giving spirit that never seemed to end, he gladly handed Kris the car keys, saying, "Have a great weekend you two, I love you. We’ll see you on Sunday."
Earlier that day, he had taken a run, evidenced by how he was dressed, pale yellow shorts, white ribbed tank top, streaked with sweat, and wearing his worn out running shoes. He reeked of body odor, but that didn't deter me from giving him a hug, and telling him that I loved him. How was I to know that hug would be our last and final goodbye? Oh, how I wished I could go back to that moment, yet this time, when I hugged him, never let go. But I couldn't, and that's what upset me most of all. An indescribable sadness came over me. Again, the tears flowed endlessly down my face. My heart ached for him, for a future that wouldn’t include him. I had found a way to cope with my daily physical pain, but this, this emotional pain, was indescribable, unbearable.
Then from somewhere within, I heard a still small voice, a soft whisper. "My daughter, I lavish my love on you, especially during this time of sadness and heartache. Your father has come home. Now, I will take care of him, and even though the way seems dark, cold, and hopeless right now, you will once again experience the light, joy, peace, and hope I have for you. I promise to carry you through this trying time.”
An immense peace came over me. Somehow, I knew that I would be okay, I would make it through. As if by cue, outside my window, I saw the most beautiful, vibrant rainbow, this sign from the Lord, reminded me in vivid colors, that yes, indeed, He would be there for me, making good on his promise.
So much has occurred in our lives since that tragic day and now rarely a day goes by that I don’t think of him at least once. There are days when I think of him and am filled with an inexplicable joy; I smile a lot, knowing he is safe in the arms of my heavenly Father. Other days, my joy turns to mourning. I cry tears of sadness, longing for his earthly presence, wishing he was here to see and play with his beautiful grandchildren.
His life was so amazing; he was a bright light to all who knew him. Although his earthly light has been extinguished, his heavenly light shines brightly in our hearts, in the smiles of his grandchildren, and in the incredible legacy he’s left behind. My mother shared with me something the other day that I thought profound.
She said, “You never get over losing someone you love, it just becomes a part of who you are.” My father is very much a part of who I am, and for that I am eternally grateful.
