This will be the second Christmas since my father passed away. I don't think it will ever get any easier.
I've noticed that my mother has gotten unsettled. She doesn't really know what to do with herself. We don't really know, either. Time has marched on and everything keeps moving. We don't really think about Dad not being here...until. Something happens, or we stop to do something and remember. He was here when we did this. Or, we did that and Dad was part of the company. When that happens, it's almost like getting a case of vertigo. Sometimes it lasts only a few seconds or a minute or two. Other times, it might leave me reeling for an hour. I know I'm not the first to lose a parent or someone I was very close to. When I say it that way, it's like I should find a little comfort in that, but there's none really to be found. It's times like these that I'm reminded - SO profoundly - that the human race was not intended to experience grief. I know we do experience it, often regularly and in large doses. But, ultimately grief was not intended for us.
In the time since Dad passed, I have been busy trying to find out as much as I can about the things he never told me. For one, where did we come from? Dad honestly didn't know. Really, it wasn't his fault, either. The Knoxes came from Alabama by way of South Carolina. Due to the nature of their arrival, our people didn't spend a lot of time talking about where they came from. I'm sure it was part of self preservation. But now that the Statute of Limitations has expired, it would be wonderful to get some inside information. Unfortunately, just about everyone who knew anything at all are all gone.
The other thing I've been trying to find out about is Dad's time in service. For those who know, Dad fought in one of the most pivotal battles of World War II. He froze off his behind for a few weeks outside of a Belgian town called Bastogne. He often spoke of the place, but never bothered to say much about what happened there. Some might argue that his time in the military was such a short time. It couldn't be so important, given his long life and the time he had with his family. But, when he was feeling good or in a mood to talk, he would often choose to mention something from his time in the military. I have to believe it was important to him.
So, in the last year and a half, I've had to fill in the blanks. A little over a year before he died, Dad and I watched Band of Brothers together and he opened up more than ever before to me. If I could have that time back, I have a whole list of questions I would ask him. So, instead of getting the information from him, I'm still looking elsewhere...and it stinks.
So, this Christmas, I am thankful that my family is together. I'm thankful I have time off and can enjoy being at home with those I love. But, it will be very obvious that someone is missing from our festivities. Our thoughts never stray far from thinking of him. And because he survived an absolutely hellacious winter in Belgium 68 years ago, he made it possible that we could be together and remember the man Dad went on to become.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Monday, November 05, 2012
Autopilot
It's a strange thing to get a few minutes to think these days.
It probably looks weird to read something like that. It was a lot harder to put that sentence together and it still may not make a lot of sense. Then, again it may.
Things in my life have been in a state of perpetual motion for well over a year now. I know, I don't have any less time than anyone else does. It takes a LOT of work to schedule and plan so that one gets the most out of every moment of every day. Some people are able to do that better than others. Some, not so much. I fall into the latter category.
Without trying to sound like I'm on a pity party, I've sort of been reeling since Dad passed in 2011. I tried to keep up with writing over the year since he died, but things seemed to get in the way A LOT. I know how it works though. My responsibilities start with caring for my family. Much of that centers around taking care of work. Those responsibilities don't always give time to sort out the feelings of losing someone, which seem linger long after the work of taking care of that sort of business is completed. At the oddest of times, I find myself missing my dad. These days it comes when I feel I need to talk to somebody, but I don't necessarily want to talk to this or that person. I would prefer him, but he's not there. It took long enough to get to that point, in terms of trust, to talk to him about my stuff. It seem with all the madness going on around me, it seems like too much work to search out someone else. But, it's just what I need to do.
In a very strange sort of way, a year later I find myself feeling much like I did a year ago. (It's that sort of feeling that has kept me from keeping a journal. What's the point of writing "I feel like crap again today?") I'm looking to a long break at Thanksgiving to give me some much needed respite from the stresses that have accumulated since the last vacation. As much as I need that (and believe me, I do. I CRAVE it!), it's not a good thing. It means, up until now, I've been on autopilot - just mailing it in. I know it's bad for me, but it's much worse for those closest to me who have to deal with me every day.
But, I must say that I'm preparing to make some changes going into the new year. I won't get into all of that now, but I see the mess that I'm in and I have an escape route planned.
I've used the four-letter word "P-L-A-N." That's probably the first big step to turn off autopilot and keep it off.
It probably looks weird to read something like that. It was a lot harder to put that sentence together and it still may not make a lot of sense. Then, again it may.
Things in my life have been in a state of perpetual motion for well over a year now. I know, I don't have any less time than anyone else does. It takes a LOT of work to schedule and plan so that one gets the most out of every moment of every day. Some people are able to do that better than others. Some, not so much. I fall into the latter category.
Without trying to sound like I'm on a pity party, I've sort of been reeling since Dad passed in 2011. I tried to keep up with writing over the year since he died, but things seemed to get in the way A LOT. I know how it works though. My responsibilities start with caring for my family. Much of that centers around taking care of work. Those responsibilities don't always give time to sort out the feelings of losing someone, which seem linger long after the work of taking care of that sort of business is completed. At the oddest of times, I find myself missing my dad. These days it comes when I feel I need to talk to somebody, but I don't necessarily want to talk to this or that person. I would prefer him, but he's not there. It took long enough to get to that point, in terms of trust, to talk to him about my stuff. It seem with all the madness going on around me, it seems like too much work to search out someone else. But, it's just what I need to do.
In a very strange sort of way, a year later I find myself feeling much like I did a year ago. (It's that sort of feeling that has kept me from keeping a journal. What's the point of writing "I feel like crap again today?") I'm looking to a long break at Thanksgiving to give me some much needed respite from the stresses that have accumulated since the last vacation. As much as I need that (and believe me, I do. I CRAVE it!), it's not a good thing. It means, up until now, I've been on autopilot - just mailing it in. I know it's bad for me, but it's much worse for those closest to me who have to deal with me every day.
But, I must say that I'm preparing to make some changes going into the new year. I won't get into all of that now, but I see the mess that I'm in and I have an escape route planned.
I've used the four-letter word "P-L-A-N." That's probably the first big step to turn off autopilot and keep it off.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Not So Fast...
In order to understand what I'm about to write, you will need to see this video: Muslims "Stoning" Christians In Dearborn, MI. Once you've watched it (if you can stomach it), then read on.
I heard about this earlier in the week and just now got around to watching the video. Conservative sites said it was a story that had been all but ignored by the media. The troubling thing about the video is what it implies throughout - Christians are being mistreated at the hand of Muslims.
It starts with a clip of President Obama speaking to a group in Dearborn, Michigan, expressing his gratitude for their support of his candidacy. He specifically mentions his full name, as if to say that the Muslim vote, which apparently is significant, played a big part in winning the election. So, in Dearborn, Muslims love their president - with the Muslim sounding name - and they support the rights of Muslims over those of "Christians." That may or may not be the case, but it won't be proven by this particular video.
Then, the video goes to this chaotic scene with people shouting, and a voice can be heard yelling over a megaphone "God is NOT Allah. God IS Jesus." I notice in the background a few banners that are never fully visible, but garner a lot of attention from the crowd. One says in part "burn in the lake of fire." The other says, in part for what is seen "liars and thieves." Each of the protesters are wearing shirts that say something about Jesus that can't be fully seen. The megaphone yells "God is not Allah. God is Jesus." A bottle or some other object whizzes by the camera and the video transitions to the next scene.
Stop right there.
This is taking place at the 2012 Arab Fair, which is obviously geared to those of the Muslim faith. These "Christians" have showed up to protest, much like the Westboro Baptist Church pickets soldier funeral services. They are not guests and from the reactions of people in the video, they are not friendly, either. All of that combined may explain the crowd's reception of this group.
The next scene shows a guy who appears to be the group's leader tells a police officer that his group has been there before. The officer tells the guy they're not going to be allowed to use the megaphone any longer because they're disturbing the peace. Those involved with the protest seem surprised that they are not being protected while they practice their freedom of speech.
After several scenes of angry exchanges with various fair goers, the scene changes and shows the protesters walking away from a large, restless crowd. Then, an older officer addresses the leader of the protesters, telling him he can't guarantee their safety or that of his officers and asks them to leave the event. A voice of reason in the midst of the madness, but it's wasted on the group who think they're doing "God's work." As the group leaves the fair, they are pulled over by police. A voice notes how many police are involved in escorting their group away from the fair and how none of them had been enlisted to protect them when they were still at the fair. The video is intended as some sort of indictment for the city of Dearborn and their support of the Muslim faith. Instead, I think it is a clear indictment of ill-advised and poor Christian behavior in the public square.
The Apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Romans "don't let what you know as good be spoken of as evil." In other words, think about how your behavior can been seen and perceived by those who are not Christians. Is there anything good about Jesus and Christianity that anyone can take away from that day in Dearborn? Not that I can tell. I could see, if these protesters were handing out free bottles of water or other cold drinks and telling people "Jesus loves you;" only to have the crowd turn on them like we see in the video, THAT would be a story. Instead, what we have are people holding provocative signs and banners, saying provocative statements over a megaphone and stirring up the crowd with anti-Christian sentiments. That isn't much of a story, except the protesters were able to get out of the situation without serious injury.
If there really is a war on religion in our society, it's because of ridiculous behavior like this being passed off as being "Christian" and society, at large, is tired of it. And if that's the case, if we find ourselves getting shut down, we're only going to have ourselves to blame in the end.
I heard about this earlier in the week and just now got around to watching the video. Conservative sites said it was a story that had been all but ignored by the media. The troubling thing about the video is what it implies throughout - Christians are being mistreated at the hand of Muslims.
It starts with a clip of President Obama speaking to a group in Dearborn, Michigan, expressing his gratitude for their support of his candidacy. He specifically mentions his full name, as if to say that the Muslim vote, which apparently is significant, played a big part in winning the election. So, in Dearborn, Muslims love their president - with the Muslim sounding name - and they support the rights of Muslims over those of "Christians." That may or may not be the case, but it won't be proven by this particular video.
Then, the video goes to this chaotic scene with people shouting, and a voice can be heard yelling over a megaphone "God is NOT Allah. God IS Jesus." I notice in the background a few banners that are never fully visible, but garner a lot of attention from the crowd. One says in part "burn in the lake of fire." The other says, in part for what is seen "liars and thieves." Each of the protesters are wearing shirts that say something about Jesus that can't be fully seen. The megaphone yells "God is not Allah. God is Jesus." A bottle or some other object whizzes by the camera and the video transitions to the next scene.
Stop right there.
This is taking place at the 2012 Arab Fair, which is obviously geared to those of the Muslim faith. These "Christians" have showed up to protest, much like the Westboro Baptist Church pickets soldier funeral services. They are not guests and from the reactions of people in the video, they are not friendly, either. All of that combined may explain the crowd's reception of this group.
The next scene shows a guy who appears to be the group's leader tells a police officer that his group has been there before. The officer tells the guy they're not going to be allowed to use the megaphone any longer because they're disturbing the peace. Those involved with the protest seem surprised that they are not being protected while they practice their freedom of speech.
After several scenes of angry exchanges with various fair goers, the scene changes and shows the protesters walking away from a large, restless crowd. Then, an older officer addresses the leader of the protesters, telling him he can't guarantee their safety or that of his officers and asks them to leave the event. A voice of reason in the midst of the madness, but it's wasted on the group who think they're doing "God's work." As the group leaves the fair, they are pulled over by police. A voice notes how many police are involved in escorting their group away from the fair and how none of them had been enlisted to protect them when they were still at the fair. The video is intended as some sort of indictment for the city of Dearborn and their support of the Muslim faith. Instead, I think it is a clear indictment of ill-advised and poor Christian behavior in the public square.
The Apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Romans "don't let what you know as good be spoken of as evil." In other words, think about how your behavior can been seen and perceived by those who are not Christians. Is there anything good about Jesus and Christianity that anyone can take away from that day in Dearborn? Not that I can tell. I could see, if these protesters were handing out free bottles of water or other cold drinks and telling people "Jesus loves you;" only to have the crowd turn on them like we see in the video, THAT would be a story. Instead, what we have are people holding provocative signs and banners, saying provocative statements over a megaphone and stirring up the crowd with anti-Christian sentiments. That isn't much of a story, except the protesters were able to get out of the situation without serious injury.
If there really is a war on religion in our society, it's because of ridiculous behavior like this being passed off as being "Christian" and society, at large, is tired of it. And if that's the case, if we find ourselves getting shut down, we're only going to have ourselves to blame in the end.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Father's Day 2012
It was a surprise yesterday to get home and have my wife tell me that I need to log into Facebook to see something. That NEVER happens. So, I logged in an saw this post my son wrote about me as his dad. I've been apprehensive about being a parent - almost from the get go. I always liked kids. But, when I realized that I would be responsible for how my kids turned out, I was quickly terrified. Nobody knows and sees one's warts, spots and shortcomings like those who live with you do. So, to see something written that was so thoughtful and complimentary about me, I almost want to ask "when did all of THAT happen!" Really, I am so very humbled and can't say anything beyond what has already been said. Thank you, Chris.
When I read my son's tribute, I began thinking and was motivated to write about my father. This will be my first Father's Day without my dad. I've already written about dealing with all the "firsts" that have happened since he left us. We might say we miss someone we don't see all that much anymore, but it's nothing like missing someone when they die. I've lost close friends who died in various circumstances at different times in my life and it hurt. Losing my dad was like losing a part of myself. As I write, I feel so many emotions, sadness, sorrow, loneliness, etc. But, I also feel others: relief, peace, comfort. I miss my dad, but I know he's doing alright and is in that "better place."
Much like my son's experience with me when he was young, my dad was gone a lot with work. He got up long before I ever woke up to go to school. Many times he would get home after dark and I would be getting ready for bed. I do remember a few times he would get home early. He said he "snuck out" to get home early for a change. I loved that. I also loved getting to go out with him on the job. He drove this huge truck and it was cool to ride down the road sitting that high up. He would often bring it home and would let me play in it. It was my Millennium Falcon. Some of the most terrifying experiences in my life was on the road with Dad when that big truck had a blow out and lost its transmission - on separate occasions. As I think about it now, I'm sure my dad was terrified, too. He was the one having to control that big rig in those circumstances.
Then, there were the times Dad would take his vacation. He had worked for Texas Power and Light so long that he had vacation that would stretch from the week of Thanksgiving, on through the entire month of December, on past New Year's Day. It was amazing to me, but it could be awkward at times. Like once when he came to pick me up at school while he was off. He didn't know where I was supposed to get picked up. He sat and waited outside the school for over an hour and never saw me. By the time he got home, I was at home, too. And he was mad!
"How did you get here?" he asked. "I was looking all over for you!"
"I walked home. I didn't know you came to get me." I said.
But, the next day he was in the place where Mom normally picked me up. Just as soon as I got used to Dad being around to take me to school and pick me up, he would have to go back to work. That was how things were as a kid.
Later on, when I got to high school, it seemed like Dad wasn't working as late, up until he retired in May of 1986. I can't remember a baseball game that he missed during my junior and senior years of high school. He usually came straight from work to the game and would follow our bus on home, if we were on the road. He actually got to show up in time for warm-ups during my senior year. It was always nice to see that old green truck, that my kids remember as "Oscar," drive up next to the ball fields where we played. We knew we had at least one fan wherever we went.
One time, during my junior season, we were playing in Blooming Grove for a district game. Our rivalry had gotten heated in the two years we were in that district and as a result, I remember the crowd being hostile toward us that day. My dad was the only person from Malakoff in the stands. For a good while he was the only person behind our dugout. While I was pitching, there were all kinds of comments coming from the crowd and questionable calls on the field. During the game, I found myself looking over at Dad every so often. When he saw I was looking at him, he'd either clap his hands or hold out a fist. "Hang tough!" or "Rock and Fire" he would tell me. We went on to lose the game, but it was close down to the wire. I like to think about him being there for us that day.
When I was in high school, I wanted to be a placekicker, but had the misfortune of being a year behind Kyle Summerhill for 3 years. I used to kick balls all around our yard and even broke windows in our house a few times. We were watching a pro game together once and he saw a guy kicking on the sidelines with a "do it yourself" holder contraption. Dad said "you need one of those." This was before such things were sold in sporting goods stores. The very next weekend, he made me one out of PVC pipe. It was an ugly thing, but I used that thing throughout high school - on through college.
During college, I convinced him to actually hold the ball for me before I finally hung up my cleats for good. It was the funniest thing. I'm sure it looked like watching Charlie Brown trying to kick the ball with Lucy holding it. I finally convinced him that I wouldn't kick his hand if he held the ball through the kick. He was so excited to see the ball go up in the air, as if to say "so that's how it works!" Later on, he was giving me tips on how to keep the ball straight and hit from angles. Most people would have thought he was an old coach by then. As I look by now, I probably should have gotten him to hold for me a lot earlier than I did.
I'm also very thankful that I had the opportunity to get close to my dad as an adult. Many times as a teenager and in my early 20s, I felt like Dad and I were just too different. He didn't understand me and I certainly didn't understand him. But, that started changing in my mid 20s. He became my best friend. I would call him about everything. He would often say "I don't know that I can give you any advice. I've never done anything like you have." I would tell him "just try. I trust your opinion and common sense." Then he would tell me what he thought. He always had a better handle on things than he let on.
I realize I am so blessed to have so many memories of my dad. So many don't get the opportunity to know their dad like I did mine. Others weren't as blessed to have someone to be such a good example in their lives. I remember once, when my wife and I were trying to sell our house in Mississippi. We drove out from Malakoff to try to get the house ready only to discover it was a wreck. Our renters had destroyed the place and we found ourselves overwhelmed, trying to clean the place up. One of the things we had planned to do was to get our refrigerator to take back to Malakoff with us. We wanted to get an open trailer and pull it behind our car, but we found those were only for local rentals. Our car couldn't pull the bigger, one-way trailers. So, how were we to get the fridge home? I called my dad and told him that we would have to come back and get the pickup. "No you don't," he said. "I'll come get it." Literally, 6 1/2 hours later, my dad was on the doorstep with a dolly to take it back with him. We loaded the fridge up and he took off again for Malakoff. He didn't rest, eat any dinner or anything. He just got back in the truck and left. That was the kind of guy he was. Because he came and got the refrigerator, we could stay and finish up cleaning the house.
I wouldn't trade anything for the time we had after they moved away from Malakoff. I know it was hard for them to leave. Dad had been there for over 60 years and Mom had been there over 40. But, they came to Conroe, made new friends and spent a lot of time with us. It was an enrichment for our family. For me personally, I enjoyed the times I got to watch Gunsmoke, Have Gun Will Travel, Cheyenne, Band of Brothers, Saving Private Ryan or any other WWII related documentary or movie for the umpteenth time. Watching WWII movies with Dad was always great because he would talk about things he normally wouldn't. The first time we watched Band of Brothers together, he told me about coming up on a concentration camp in Germany. He never said anything about that. Another time, when we were watching Saving Private Ryan, when that tank comes up over that mound where the soldiers were hiding, he said "that's what it was like when those German tanks rolled by. They would shake the ground." Wow.
When he and Mom broke their hips, we all were stretched to within an inch of our lives (or so it seemed). I knew he needed me and my family like never before. Looking back, I don't know how we made it. We rallied together and even though it didn't look like it most of the time, we felt like everything would be alright. He and Mom bounced back wonderfully from their injuries and things were back to the "new normal" we had adjusted to.
Chris mentioned some of the things I had to do when he and his siblings were younger. I hope he knows that I was just doing what I knew I had to do to take care of us. Taking care of the family was THE most important thing I could do. It was something my dad modeled for me. Whether it was on the frozen battlefields of Belgium, driving a truck back and forth from Dallas for work, helping with the local Royal Rangers outpost or mowing the 7+ acres of property that belonged to their church, Dad did what he knew he should do. He kept his word, did what he said he would do and he definitely didn't gripe and complain about it along the way. There's definitely a need for THAT kind of man in this country. I can only hope I can grow into that kind of man some day. I'm glad I got to see what that looks like.
So, this weekend, Dad, I will be thinking about you. I miss watching Gunsmoke with you during the week. I haven't watched Band of Brothers since the Christmas holidays, when Chris was home. It's mainly because each time I do, I think of all kinds of questions that I wish I had asked you the last time we watched it together. Maybe I'll get around to it this weekend. I certainly know you won't be far from my thoughts. You never are.
When I read my son's tribute, I began thinking and was motivated to write about my father. This will be my first Father's Day without my dad. I've already written about dealing with all the "firsts" that have happened since he left us. We might say we miss someone we don't see all that much anymore, but it's nothing like missing someone when they die. I've lost close friends who died in various circumstances at different times in my life and it hurt. Losing my dad was like losing a part of myself. As I write, I feel so many emotions, sadness, sorrow, loneliness, etc. But, I also feel others: relief, peace, comfort. I miss my dad, but I know he's doing alright and is in that "better place."
Much like my son's experience with me when he was young, my dad was gone a lot with work. He got up long before I ever woke up to go to school. Many times he would get home after dark and I would be getting ready for bed. I do remember a few times he would get home early. He said he "snuck out" to get home early for a change. I loved that. I also loved getting to go out with him on the job. He drove this huge truck and it was cool to ride down the road sitting that high up. He would often bring it home and would let me play in it. It was my Millennium Falcon. Some of the most terrifying experiences in my life was on the road with Dad when that big truck had a blow out and lost its transmission - on separate occasions. As I think about it now, I'm sure my dad was terrified, too. He was the one having to control that big rig in those circumstances.
Then, there were the times Dad would take his vacation. He had worked for Texas Power and Light so long that he had vacation that would stretch from the week of Thanksgiving, on through the entire month of December, on past New Year's Day. It was amazing to me, but it could be awkward at times. Like once when he came to pick me up at school while he was off. He didn't know where I was supposed to get picked up. He sat and waited outside the school for over an hour and never saw me. By the time he got home, I was at home, too. And he was mad!
"How did you get here?" he asked. "I was looking all over for you!"
"I walked home. I didn't know you came to get me." I said.
But, the next day he was in the place where Mom normally picked me up. Just as soon as I got used to Dad being around to take me to school and pick me up, he would have to go back to work. That was how things were as a kid.
Later on, when I got to high school, it seemed like Dad wasn't working as late, up until he retired in May of 1986. I can't remember a baseball game that he missed during my junior and senior years of high school. He usually came straight from work to the game and would follow our bus on home, if we were on the road. He actually got to show up in time for warm-ups during my senior year. It was always nice to see that old green truck, that my kids remember as "Oscar," drive up next to the ball fields where we played. We knew we had at least one fan wherever we went.
One time, during my junior season, we were playing in Blooming Grove for a district game. Our rivalry had gotten heated in the two years we were in that district and as a result, I remember the crowd being hostile toward us that day. My dad was the only person from Malakoff in the stands. For a good while he was the only person behind our dugout. While I was pitching, there were all kinds of comments coming from the crowd and questionable calls on the field. During the game, I found myself looking over at Dad every so often. When he saw I was looking at him, he'd either clap his hands or hold out a fist. "Hang tough!" or "Rock and Fire" he would tell me. We went on to lose the game, but it was close down to the wire. I like to think about him being there for us that day.
When I was in high school, I wanted to be a placekicker, but had the misfortune of being a year behind Kyle Summerhill for 3 years. I used to kick balls all around our yard and even broke windows in our house a few times. We were watching a pro game together once and he saw a guy kicking on the sidelines with a "do it yourself" holder contraption. Dad said "you need one of those." This was before such things were sold in sporting goods stores. The very next weekend, he made me one out of PVC pipe. It was an ugly thing, but I used that thing throughout high school - on through college.
During college, I convinced him to actually hold the ball for me before I finally hung up my cleats for good. It was the funniest thing. I'm sure it looked like watching Charlie Brown trying to kick the ball with Lucy holding it. I finally convinced him that I wouldn't kick his hand if he held the ball through the kick. He was so excited to see the ball go up in the air, as if to say "so that's how it works!" Later on, he was giving me tips on how to keep the ball straight and hit from angles. Most people would have thought he was an old coach by then. As I look by now, I probably should have gotten him to hold for me a lot earlier than I did.
I'm also very thankful that I had the opportunity to get close to my dad as an adult. Many times as a teenager and in my early 20s, I felt like Dad and I were just too different. He didn't understand me and I certainly didn't understand him. But, that started changing in my mid 20s. He became my best friend. I would call him about everything. He would often say "I don't know that I can give you any advice. I've never done anything like you have." I would tell him "just try. I trust your opinion and common sense." Then he would tell me what he thought. He always had a better handle on things than he let on.
I realize I am so blessed to have so many memories of my dad. So many don't get the opportunity to know their dad like I did mine. Others weren't as blessed to have someone to be such a good example in their lives. I remember once, when my wife and I were trying to sell our house in Mississippi. We drove out from Malakoff to try to get the house ready only to discover it was a wreck. Our renters had destroyed the place and we found ourselves overwhelmed, trying to clean the place up. One of the things we had planned to do was to get our refrigerator to take back to Malakoff with us. We wanted to get an open trailer and pull it behind our car, but we found those were only for local rentals. Our car couldn't pull the bigger, one-way trailers. So, how were we to get the fridge home? I called my dad and told him that we would have to come back and get the pickup. "No you don't," he said. "I'll come get it." Literally, 6 1/2 hours later, my dad was on the doorstep with a dolly to take it back with him. We loaded the fridge up and he took off again for Malakoff. He didn't rest, eat any dinner or anything. He just got back in the truck and left. That was the kind of guy he was. Because he came and got the refrigerator, we could stay and finish up cleaning the house.
I wouldn't trade anything for the time we had after they moved away from Malakoff. I know it was hard for them to leave. Dad had been there for over 60 years and Mom had been there over 40. But, they came to Conroe, made new friends and spent a lot of time with us. It was an enrichment for our family. For me personally, I enjoyed the times I got to watch Gunsmoke, Have Gun Will Travel, Cheyenne, Band of Brothers, Saving Private Ryan or any other WWII related documentary or movie for the umpteenth time. Watching WWII movies with Dad was always great because he would talk about things he normally wouldn't. The first time we watched Band of Brothers together, he told me about coming up on a concentration camp in Germany. He never said anything about that. Another time, when we were watching Saving Private Ryan, when that tank comes up over that mound where the soldiers were hiding, he said "that's what it was like when those German tanks rolled by. They would shake the ground." Wow.
When he and Mom broke their hips, we all were stretched to within an inch of our lives (or so it seemed). I knew he needed me and my family like never before. Looking back, I don't know how we made it. We rallied together and even though it didn't look like it most of the time, we felt like everything would be alright. He and Mom bounced back wonderfully from their injuries and things were back to the "new normal" we had adjusted to.
Chris mentioned some of the things I had to do when he and his siblings were younger. I hope he knows that I was just doing what I knew I had to do to take care of us. Taking care of the family was THE most important thing I could do. It was something my dad modeled for me. Whether it was on the frozen battlefields of Belgium, driving a truck back and forth from Dallas for work, helping with the local Royal Rangers outpost or mowing the 7+ acres of property that belonged to their church, Dad did what he knew he should do. He kept his word, did what he said he would do and he definitely didn't gripe and complain about it along the way. There's definitely a need for THAT kind of man in this country. I can only hope I can grow into that kind of man some day. I'm glad I got to see what that looks like.
So, this weekend, Dad, I will be thinking about you. I miss watching Gunsmoke with you during the week. I haven't watched Band of Brothers since the Christmas holidays, when Chris was home. It's mainly because each time I do, I think of all kinds of questions that I wish I had asked you the last time we watched it together. Maybe I'll get around to it this weekend. I certainly know you won't be far from my thoughts. You never are.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Happy Birthday To You, Dad
It's been a little over 8 months since Dad left us. It all happened so quickly. Knowing Dad, he would have wanted it that way.
The way he died, he wasn't alone and he went quickly. The funeral service, all his favorite songs were sung. Everyone there had something good to say or remembered something significant about him. Those he cared for the most came together to remember him. But, he had a greater purpose in mind. He wanted for his passing to be something to bring people together. He wanted his family to come together and we did. He couldn't have planned it better than it worked out.
In the time since he passed, we've all had to cope with his absence. We've had to deal with him not being there for a birthday or that special holiday. He couldn't be there for that special event or activity that he often took part in. And we've missed him the whole time. I suppose we'll never get over that. For my part, I hope I don't.
Tomorrow is Dad's birthday and to commemorate, my siblings and I will meet at the Carter Cemetery, south of Canton, where most of our family is buried, to see his head and foot stones. They were placed on his grave about a month ago. It's sad that we will be doing this on his birthday. But, this is all we have left and it is fitting to do so. I'm sure we'll laugh and tell stories as we take the opportunity to remember the man he was. I think Bruce Springsteen's Terry's Song describes my dad better than anything "...when they built you, brother, they broke the mold." Yep, that's right.
So happy birthday, Dad. I miss you more than I ever thought I could. If anything has happened to me over the past 8 months, I've come to believe in God and in Heaven in ways that I never have before. Your birthday is a reminder of the hope I have in the resurrection, that I will see you and other loved ones again one day. I may be sad tomorrow, but I will always have hope. It's the same hope you had. Thanks for blazing the trail and pointing the way. We can't be that far behind...
The way he died, he wasn't alone and he went quickly. The funeral service, all his favorite songs were sung. Everyone there had something good to say or remembered something significant about him. Those he cared for the most came together to remember him. But, he had a greater purpose in mind. He wanted for his passing to be something to bring people together. He wanted his family to come together and we did. He couldn't have planned it better than it worked out.
In the time since he passed, we've all had to cope with his absence. We've had to deal with him not being there for a birthday or that special holiday. He couldn't be there for that special event or activity that he often took part in. And we've missed him the whole time. I suppose we'll never get over that. For my part, I hope I don't.
Tomorrow is Dad's birthday and to commemorate, my siblings and I will meet at the Carter Cemetery, south of Canton, where most of our family is buried, to see his head and foot stones. They were placed on his grave about a month ago. It's sad that we will be doing this on his birthday. But, this is all we have left and it is fitting to do so. I'm sure we'll laugh and tell stories as we take the opportunity to remember the man he was. I think Bruce Springsteen's Terry's Song describes my dad better than anything "...when they built you, brother, they broke the mold." Yep, that's right.
So happy birthday, Dad. I miss you more than I ever thought I could. If anything has happened to me over the past 8 months, I've come to believe in God and in Heaven in ways that I never have before. Your birthday is a reminder of the hope I have in the resurrection, that I will see you and other loved ones again one day. I may be sad tomorrow, but I will always have hope. It's the same hope you had. Thanks for blazing the trail and pointing the way. We can't be that far behind...
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