Posted by
The Hermit Crab on Sunday, February 13, 2011 2:42:37 PM
Dear Dad,
It's been three painful days since you left this world for the next one, and left dozens of family and friend to mourn for you. I went to church today, but could not sing as I usually do, for fear that my throat would tighten up, as it does when I remember that I will never see you or speak to you again unless and until I make the cut to go to Heaven. (You, of course, made the cut easily.) I am left here to reflect on all of the lessons you taught me, some of which I have not, to my embarrassment, learned very well.
You taught me that a man can be great without any of the trappings of greatness as the world defines the word. He can be a great man, if fact, while living in near-total anonymity, simply by doing all of the ordinary tasks of life with integrity and sincerity. This you did throughout your 83 years, leaving to those who knew you an example that we can look to the rest of our lives.
You taught me that a man must seek his God and the truth the entirety of his life. I will always be grateful for the thirst for truth that you planted in me when I was still a young boy, first learning that this life can be difficult, brutal, and downright unfair. You taught me to learn about all facets of history, the savage as well as the peaceful; the ugly as well as the beautiful. In order to promote and protect the best in life, man must understand always how the vicious and tyrannical can flourish in the absence of the effort of the good to defeat them. Some think my relentless focus on the seamy side of human existence is bizarre or incomprehensible, but to them I tell them with pride that I am my father's son.
You taught me to trust in God absolutely, but to trust all else according to their merits. You taught me to be unsparing in my evaluation of the trustworthiness of others, no matter who they are or how trustworthy I wish to believe them to be. You even told me that you would lie to me yourself -- if the truth would cause more damage than the lie. That was, I think, one of the most honest things anyone has ever said to me.
You taught me not to be overawed by anyone's academic credentials, no matter how seemingly impressive. You taught me that the "intellectuals" were no better than Orwell described them in his famous statement "There are some ideas so transparently ridiculous that it takes an intellectual to believe them."
You taught me to give my word cautiously and sparingly, and to keep my word always.
You taught me to always consider the possibility that I may be wrong, not because I am stupid (although it often seems that I am), but because I am human. You allowed me to challenge your knowledge and beliefs, and even to persuade you a few times. I may have even grown up to match you in intelligence. In wisdom, of course, you beat me out of the field. I'm not even close.
You taught me that a man loves his family. Not just when they deserve it, but always. Sometimes that unconditional love was all that stood between one or another of your children and catastrophe. Sometimes that child was me.
You taught me that humor is as necessary to life as air. There is so much pain and loss in this life that it cannot be survived without the ability to laugh. There was never a better companion in life's journey than you, Dad. Thanks for sharing that with me.
You showed me how to forgive, and not just me. Your brother (and my uncle) Roy told me that you forgave your stepfather for the brutal way he treated you when you were growing up. He said that you had forgiven so completely that when Grandpa asked your forgiveness, you replied "For what?" You had erased all of that ill treatment from your ledger. Uncle Roy said that it was the greatest example of Christian forgiveness he had ever seen. I hope to someday come near your mark in this, and in every other thing that makes a man a true Christian. I have a lot of work to do.
You taught me not to take myself too seriously (or you tried to, anyway). Your patience with young children is legendary. You let them call you things like PaPa Poosie and Grandpa DooDoo, realizing the fact that it amused them, and you as well, without diminishing their respect and love for you. Rather, it increased both.
You tried to teach me how a man chooses his battles. You could be granite-hard when you had to be, but you chose your moments far better than I ever have. I do not remember a single time when I saw you get angry or confrontational without just cause.
You taught us throughout your life how a Christian man should love his wife, with unstinting devotion and absolute fidelity. (Of course, it helped that Mom is so completely lovable.) The love in your eyes when you looked at Mom never dimmed throughout 63 3/4 years of marriage. Cousin Florence told me that that was the first thing she thought of whenever she thought of Uncle David and Aunt Marie. She wasn't the only one.
Lastly, you taught us how a Christian dies -- with dignity, with love for his family, and without complaint. Many of us thought (and think still) that it is an injustice howling to the skies that you were taken down by a fourth cancer after you had already beaten three others, but you never uttered a word of complaint. Even to your last day of this life, you were still leading by example. By a towering act of will, you didn't let on how much you were suffering, choosing the stoicism of suffering in silence. When my day comes, as it will, I hope I can face my fate with the courage and faith which you showed us. I am not very confident that I can.
You were a better man than I have ever known. You were better than I think I can ever be. Your memory will be both a reproach and an inspiration to me as I struggle to fill any of the roles you filled so wonderfully throughout your 83 years.
If I could have given up the rest of my life to extend yours (in good health), I'd have done it in an instant. The world would have gained in the exchange.
Your loving, proud, and grieving son,
David