A week ago my dear Dad sat down on his couch to take a nap. He fell peacefully asleep and did not wake up again. He was only 59.
Around 3:30 in the afternoon I saw I had missed two calls in a row from my youngest brother. The fact that he had called me twice, six minutes apart, set off my alarm bells. I thought our dad must be having heart trouble again. I hoped it wasn't something with my brother's kids.
It was a horrible shock to hear that my dad had passed away.
After the first wave of shock and grief I remembered my early morning encounter with the Holy Spirit. I thought, "You were so excited about today. What's up with that?" Then it came to me. He knew He got to bring my dad Home, and He was excited to see him, to set him free at last, to show Dad all the things He wanted him to see but that my dad wasn't able to accept while surrounded by the hard things of life. This is what I wrote down late that night:
I love you. I miss you.
Friday afternoon we went down to Robertson Bridge and I was thinking about you a lot. Out there in the sunshine by the river, with a turkey vulture circling overhead and that big old osprey nest on top of the old bridge. And all the boys' antics. I was thinking you should've been there with us. I wanted to call you and say "you're missing so much life!" I had a hope, that you would choose life again someday. I felt sad for how hopeless you must have felt for so long.
Yesterday morning I woke up to a tangible presence of God in my room. I saw Him smiling and smiling at me. He came to my bed and hugged me so tight. He seemed excited for the day ahead. And, you know, looking back, I think He was excited to See you. To finally take you in His arms and fly away above it all. I think He'd been missing you too. Missing you for a long time. I can imagine Him hugging you tight, and smiling So hugely. I imagine Him showing you the things you wondered about, "God where were You when...?"
I wish you could have known your grandsons. They are growing into fine young men and I know you would be proud of them. I wish you could have written your songs. I wish I could have heard you sing them out with all your heart. There are so many things. But, really, what more could I wish for you than the Life you have now? Because you can see your grandkids, and you are writing and singing with all your heart. And free of pain and full of joy.
So, Goodbye. Until we meet again. I can't wait to meet the Real you.
I love you. I miss you.