I'm currently on vacation working on a playhouse (I may have mentioned this). Today I was working out back putting up roof trusses when I heard gunshots. At first I was puzzled--gunshots? Here? Not in our sleepy little metropolis. Then I heard the bugle.
You see, we live about half a block from a cemetary. I'd never heard it before today--perhaps the wind direction helped carry it our way or something--but they were holding a graveside service with military honors. I usually get choked up pretty easily over "Taps", but suddenly I was reliving my father's graveside service in January. There I was, on top of a ladder with a drill in one hand, crying.
I don't know where I get the idea that I'm somehow different from other people. When people tell me it takes time to get over losing a loved one they're right. It doesn't matter that we were expecting it, that it was a merciful passing, that we had our chance to say goodbye first. There's a hole there, and it's going to be there awhile. Perhaps it's not overtly impacting my life every day, but it's still there.
I think the hardest thing to come to terms with was that I never did say goodbye. Not the way I had wanted to, anyway. The last time we visited I said it to his face, but while I said the words, there was a lot behind them that didn't get said. I started a letter to him several times and never finished it.
And his last night, after the family had a prayer around his bed, Mom even requested that we take some time to say goodbye. I didn't. It was too easy not to. There were family around I hadn't seen in some time. There was Mom to worry about. There was my sister and her little boy to help out with. There were plenty of excuses. I just didn't get around to it. I was scared. Of what, I'm not sure.
I wish I had. I guess I should take some comfort in knowing that I said much of what I would have said during the blessing we gave him the night before he died. I should take comfort in knowing that I'll have a chance to tell him again someday. But the comfort isn't there.
So now I can only add my voice to all those who I used to ignore: Never leave things unsaid. If you have your chance to say goodbye, take it.
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Until this year I never fully understood why my friend didn't like it when we sang "Love at Home" at church. Even when she explained that her family had sung that song at her mother's funeral, I didn't really understand. Now I do. About a month after Dad's funeral we sang "Each Life That Touches Ours For Good" and "I'll Go Where You Want Me To Go" both on the same Sunday. I suspect it will be some time before I can sing either of those songs without choking up.
I didn't take a chance to say goodbye either. I had a three-year-old who demanded attention. That was my excuse. I think the real reason was more that the man I saw lying in that bed wasn't the man I remember as I my dad. I thought I was prepared for how much he had changed, but I wasn't. The last time I had seen him he was still laughing, teasing, and although somewhat frail, pretty much himself.
I do regret that I didn't take a minute to sit by his bed and tell him how I felt, but I know that he knew. He knew that no matter how old I get, I'll always be Daddy's girl. When we visited last April he and I sat up late one night talking until the wee hours of the morning. I'm so glad we did that.
I miss him, and I regret that I didn't appreciate enough while he was alive just what a good man he was. To me he was just Dad. What I didn't really realize is that not everyone's Dad is the kind of man mine was. I have been blessed.
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