(Part 2)
The next day really wasn’t much better as far as the reality of what had happened. There were people coming and going, bringing food and off ering their condolences, but things still didn’t see real. I took my stepmother to the funeral home to make the arrangements, and called the newspaper to relay what we wanted to put into the obituary. We even picked out a casket that would contain my lifelong cheering section. But still, the surreal events which had transpired within the last twenty-four hours, within my mind, hadn’t made the transition from a dreamlike state to conscious, hard core reality.
After taking Mickey back home and going back to my home for the rest of the morning, my wife and I got ready to go back to Dad ’s place. It wasn’t until we pulled up in front of Dad’s house on that early afternoon in January of 1988, that the reality of his death hit home.
You see, there was a ritual that went on when we would arrive at his house. He’d open the security gate for us from inside the house, and then he’d walk out to the yard gate next to the carport, stand, and wait on us to get out of the car. He’d then smile and say, “Ya’ll come on in!” and then he’d walk us to the front door. But on this day something was different.
The gate opened as it always had and we drove up to the carport as we always did, but my Dad wasn’t standing at the gate as he always was. And it was at that moment that an overwhelming sense of grief overcame me, so that I could no longer contain the tears and tremendous sense of loss that I’d been suppressing.
You see, Dad would never again be at the gate to greet us. He’d never again smile and say, “Ya’ll come on in!” He’d never again walk us to the front door…Never, never, never…I was caught up with an overwhelming sense of fi nality and loss.
As I wept uncontrollably, my wife prayed and tried to console me, but it didn’t help. I thought to myself “Why?” I wasn’t ready for this. I wanted to see him one more time. I thought, “God, if I could only tell him just one last time that I loved him. If I could only give him one last goodbye then maybe I could deal with this.” Those thoughts had no sooner crossed my mind when God reminded me of something.
A few days prior to his death , I had called Dad to wish him a happy fifty-ninth birthday. We talked for what I now recall was a considerable length of time– Much longer than we usually talked. Dad was usually the conversant and I was more of the listener. After all, he was the dad. But on this particular day the conversation worked both ways and I’m thankful it did.
We talked about things past, present and future; about life in general and about how happy he was to at last be near the rest of his grandkids for awhile (he had lived in Seattle, Washington ). Looking back, it’s almost as though he knew he might not get to chat with me again.
After we had spoken, we both got ready to hang up. Dad said, “Tell the family I said hi and give the grandkids a hug for me…I guess I’d better let you go…And by the way son, “I love you.” I said “I love you too Dad.” He said “Goodbye” and then I said “Goodbye”…And those would be the last words we ever spoke to one another.
You see, God in His infinite mercy answered my prayer even before I asked Him – Because of that, I was able to tell my Dad that I loved him one last time, and give him one last goodbye.
God does answer prayer.