My senior year at McEachern High School was a blur of anticipation, fun, lots of sentiment and tears. I loved our school and was sad to leave behind those years of band, sports, classes and wonderful people. But I hit the ground running, away to Tennessee for college and more adventures. Then there was the blur of getting married young, having lots of babies and a hands-full life for all these many years. I haven't had time to be slow, to reminisce much about high school or those I left behind.
Then the train hit last month when my Daddy died. It is interesting how that suddenly, so many things simply weren't that important. I wasn't worrying about nuances of clients' feelings, cranky agents or jumping instantly to the computer to address a situation. Unless it was a three-alarm fire, I wasn't hurdling myself over the sofa to put out a two-alarm one. Early grief feels something like you're floating underneath the surface of the water...the noises and busy-ness of life muted, everything gets fuzzy, the world doesn't matter much. You know you need to address things, there are people that demand answers. But you just don't care. There's a hole in the universe and I've dropped plumb down in it.
What I didn't anticipate was the soothing buzz of quiet love that came from kind people. I have been astonished at folks who remember him going back fourty years, when he cheered them on at our high school games and events. One of my old friends from McEachern has fed our whole family, held my hand, written me cards, called me consistently, visited, taken me to lunch, distracted me with business talk, prayed and spoken authentic wisdom, no platitudes. Another dear friend saw (via technology) that I was up at 3:00 in the morning and called and talked me off the cliff of heartbreak, which she had herself experienced when she lost her own Daddy last year. My husband has held me patiently, curled like a baby, for countless hours while I rained tears. Our children and grandchildren have been a solace, grieving and laughing with us, giving us hope for the future. Our church has been like a cradle, a peaceful place where I am held, loved, understood. The Word of God a well, where I am fed and filled.
There comes a day when you have to move your feet. The fires of life beckon. Honoring my Daddy means that I move into the next things better, deeper, shedding things that don't matter. You never truly get "over" this heartbreak, at least not in this life. If bitterness is not allowed purchase and we constantly reach for gratefulness for what we were given, the message of his godly, rich life becomes a part of the warp-and-woof of our souls. Legacies are not made from money, lands, degrees or awards on a wall. They are found in the wake of love left behind that envelopes itself into the hearts of those touched by such a soul.
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