be-musings

I just asked Scott if it's too obsessive to post one more thing about dad, and he said "No, your dad died! Two is not too much." So I'll indulge one more time. This is the "sermon" Scott gave. I think that for the little time they spent together, he understood him fairly well.

I met Lorne late in his life. I vividly remember my first impression of the man – he was short… and quiet. He was a man’s man – flannel and jeans and grease on his hands and a smoke in his mouth. He was like a little cowboy almost. I liked him instantly.

Lorne grew up in a world that didn’t talk about their feelings much, unless there was beer and a hockey game involved. Lorne seemed quiet about himself at first. Polite, accommodating, rough and tumble – a good dude.

My wife Annette often tells me that her dad wasn’t a big talker, but I remember vividly one night, sitting across the table from him all alone, as he described for me how much he loved his kids. Later it seemed hard for Annette to believe, but for that hour, that night, he gushed about her and her siblings – words he had a hard time saying to someone’s face.

He was a unique guy, let’s be honest the whole family is unique, wonderfully unique. I think God loves making people like Lorne – he was never boring. In a world of copycats, Lorne was an original. He was like a flannel John the Baptist, preparing the way in the wilderness. I promised Annette I wouldn’t mention how he would take the family on campouts to the middle of nowhere and seemingly randomly choose a spot to camp – usually miles from electricity or water. I promised I wouldn’t mention that, so I won’t. I think God has a special place in his heart for people like Lorne, people who uncompromisingly live their convictions. People who aren’t afraid to be different. I’m pretty sure God loved Lorne a lot. And though this is a time to mourn, it’s also a time to celebrate – celebrate Lorne’s life and celebrate that Lorne knew in his heart that this is not the end of his life, really. He believed that there was a heaven, and he’s there right now. He never really talked about it, but in his own introverted way he made his peace with his God. He just didn’t want people to know till after he died – you know he had a tough guy flannel image to protect. And that’s good news. We mourn, but Lorne doesn’t. Right now he’s up in heaven freaking the crap out of the angels with his wit and sarcasm. And the best legacy we can give back to Lorne is to love each other deeply, and tell each other we love them. It’s too late when we die to say the things you really want to say today. We have just a moment on this earth, let’s not waste it.

This has been a tough year, and I haven't been in touch with people as much as they have been in my thoughts. I wish it were different, but this has been the reality. There has been a lot of transition, of many kinds.

The restaurant, all consuming to both families involved, closed at the end of December. The journey toward realizing it wouldn't survive the recession was difficult, and closure was the death of a dream. At the same time, we took on a very large renovation, which also was impacted by the recession and Scott's temporary unemployment, and we ended up doing much of the work ourselves. That's why it's still going on. We've learned so much about home repair now, though.

Some relationships have changed because of not being able to keep up with them, not seeing them at church with the close of the restaurant, and just the general impact of going different directions. I hope that some of them will be back on track again soon.

November 2008 my father was diagnosed with leukemia. It was a difficult process for everyone, friends and family alike. On June 27th, 2009 he passed away. I remember I was mudding in what is now in our bedroom when his wife called earlier that day to say he probably wouldn't live out the night. I gave her a message for him, that I loved him and will miss him. A few hours later he was gone.

Death is not a stranger to me. My brother died when I was 13. Grandparents died at various stages of my childhood and adulthood. Friends have died tragically; as recent as last month. It's not that dad was young, because he lived to be 75. It's also not that we talked every week. But I knew I was loved, especially because he told me whenever we spoke.

Shortly after dad died, I was opening a can of pop for a customer, when very clearly in my brain I heard my dad say "Do you clean the tops of the cans for your customers Annette? Because on TV they said you should because of the rats in the storage warehouses". Before you think I'm crazy to hear that said, I'll clarify by saying he did say it a few months prior. I hadn't thought about it in between, so was surprised at the strength of the moment that it came to my memory in such an internally audible way. His voice and mannerisms come to me so strongly sometimes.

I was in the hardware store picking up reno things. I thought "Dad will laugh when he finds out how much drywall mudding I've been doing and how it's turned out not bad." But then I realized that dad won't know.
Last Sunday, Fathers Day, was difficult for me off and on. I no longer have a dad. I love my father-in-law, and don't think I could hope for a better one. I thought briefly of talking to him about shifting to him this year, in terms of completing the adoption of him as my dad. I couldn't do it. I don't want to replace mine yet; it doesn't seem respectful. Strangely enough though, I seem to have shifted to Scott this year. I bought him a present, and spoiled him a bit. Even though he isn't my dad, he is such a great example of a good dad.

The last conversation I had with dad he told me how he laid on the living room floor carpet that afternoon, just because he wanted to. He also sat outside on the grass for a while, enjoying the outdoors. He said not to worry because he would be all right. I gave him a "reality check" about having leukemia. He said he wasn't talking about that. He told me I had my beliefs and he also believed. In his coded way he was saying he would be with God. I understood it. He was okay with dying now.

Labels: dad, death, dying, memories, memorium