Father’s Day Sucks

(letter to my siblings on the first Father’s Day without dad)

Father’s Day is forever different for us starting this year.

No card to write.  No phone call.  No tie/coffee cup/tee shirt/baseball cap to buy.

If only there were no regrets …

I wish dad were here to see _______________________.

I’d like to tell dad _______________________________.

I wish I had ____________________ with him more.

I don’t know how many times I’ve thought, “I need to ask dad _______________.”  It was such a habit to talk to him about so many things.  It is amazing how an adult can be so dependent on a parent and never even realize it.

Sigh …

To say, “It sucks!” is somewhat of an understatement, but good Christians aren’t supposed to use the more “expressive” words (I’m not even sure if a Baptist pastor is allowed to say, “It sucks!”).  After all, we know he is in “a better place”.  “We don’t mourn today as those who have no hope.”  “We will see him again “on the other side” in the sweet by and by.”  “He’s better off now.”  And so on …

I miss him.

And, it sucks.

Yes, healing is coming, but it only serves to illustrate how pervasive the loss is.  Why does everything have to take twice as long and be three times harder than we expect.

That sucks too!

If there is any solace in knowing you are not alone, then the past few months have provided me with quite a bit of company to love in our mutual misery.  I’m not sure how it helps really.  Except is does give me a couple of people to send this letter to.  Which in turn gives me the impetus to write it.  And I suppose that is another step in healing as I process, consider, wax nostalgic, ruminate, etc …

At least we had a dad that filled such a large part of our lives.  It was an incredible gift.  We were very fortunate that he was so much – so connected, so involved, so proud, so available …

Of course, that left a pretty big hole …

I know it won’t always be this way.  I know it gets better.  I know we have to get through all the “firsts” – Father’s Day, birthdays, Holidays, events and occasions…  And they never end.  There is always one more special moment we will wish we could share with dad, one more question we wish we could ask, one more doubt we wish we could share …

It’s a good thing that we have a Father in Heaven, but boy He better step up to the plate big time!  And He does.  I know in the end we’ll all be fine.  We’ll make it through with the loving support of so many friends and family members.  Our Father in Heaven has never left us and His love endures forever.

I get all that.

It’s just that this is harder than I thought.

It’s taking too long.

And it sucks.

Just sayin’

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From the Memorial

Friday, August 12, 2011

Edwin L. Freeman Obituary

At the memorial service in Boston, Georgia, I spoke of my father’s life as a servant.

Mat 5:16 – “Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in Heaven.”

I don’t think I have ever heard this verse used in a memorial service and I didn’t see it on any of the “list of memorial scriptures”, but it seemed the most appropriate for dad. He was truly the definition of servant.

On of his favorite movies was “Remains of the Day”. There is one scene where Anthony Hopkins’ character is out on the hunt with the master of the house. His master is just sitting on a horse conversing with another huntsman and Hopkins is standing in the drizzle with a cup upheld just in case his master wanted to drink. Winston Churchill said, “Those also serve who ready stand in wait.” Dad was always ready, but he rarely stood. He was always serving.

He served his family. He provided, sometimes through three jobs. And so, we learned the value of hard work. He could and did fix anything. Some of the most dreaded words came when we would ask him to replace something and he would respond with “I can fix that”. We just wanted a new one and instead we ended up with a fully functional, however very ugly, repair. And so, we learned to be content with what we had. He helped people. I remember a time when he had sold a van to a woman. The next week, she called. The van had broken down. We went to pick up the van and he gave her the money back. And so, we learned to help people even when it hurt.

He served his church. Every church he has ever attended recognized that he was a man full of the Holy Spirit and wisdom (Acts 6:3). He became a councilor to every pastor he sat under. He served as Sunday School director and deacon, building , maintenance and sound committees and just took care of things whether he was on the committee or not. And so, we learned the value of church family.

In all of this, he served his god. As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord (Josh 24:15). His house served the Lord, but it was not by command or coercion. He led us by example, service and love. And so, we learned that service of God is no burden, but an expression of love.

I miss him.

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In a Post Dad World

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

In a Post Dad World

It seems strange that nothing has changed.

The chair needed to be fixed.  The grass needed to be mown.  Bills to pay, dishes to wash, sermon to prepare, budget review to present, children to raise.  Gas in the car, check the e-mail, go for a walk, take a shower, clean the gunk out of the sole of my shoe.

It all seems so normal.

Shouldn’t something change.

Maybe the herald who trumpets the differences in this new ‘post dad’ day and world is late.  Did we fail to convene the conference for the Committees to Pronounce Change in this new age?  Did I miss a memo?  I swear, I checked my email.

Something just has to be different!  It’s not possible for there to be a hole this big in my soul and everything remains the same.

Even so, it is well with my soul …

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On the Day Dad Died

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

On the Day Dad Died

Up from the nap
Planning, calling.
Outside swinging.
The pecan tree drops a limb on the car.
I swallow a gnat.
A black cat screams, “Meow” as it slinks past.
 
A breeze picks up.
I circumnavigate this 10 acre world.
The ground here is dirty.
My bare feet are black.
I swallow a gnat.
 
Inside and up the stairs for a shower
Black water swirls in the bottom of the tub as it heads to the drain
My feet are clean
 Comfortable shorts and t-shirt.
 
Yahtze and Rummy – the Freeman social exchange
Glasses of sweet tea our social lubricant
Sarcastic observation and laughter our social language
 
Memories of moments
A breeze picks up and a storm blows in.
 
In a deep place, healing begins
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