I was slowly eating breakfast at the college cafeteria when my father died on a remote trail, on the other side of the country.
He loved hiking trails and being outside, but I didn’t even know until two days later. With a busy class schedule and studying in the library I had forgotten to check my phone. When I finally managed to recharge my phone, I and saw all the missed calls and text messages.
My mother told me over the phone, such terrible news. I was so unprepared for such news. I am too young to be without a father, and yet here I sit so devastated.
My father lived through a war, was always willing to help others and taught people of all ages and yet he was gone.
All the answers to all the questions I hadn’t asked him yet, now lost forever, because I assumed he would always be there.
In my mind’s eye, I had seen him, old but never frail, many years from now, still ready whenever I needed him to console me, advise me, disapprove of my boyfriends. Instead, I found myself rushing back home, unable to stop the flow of tears that seemed to come without me even realizing it half the time.
I cried all the way back home, I cried my tears as meals were left untouched, I cried until it was time to say goodbye.
The sun was high in the sky, such a day that he would go hiking or fishing. I was so angry, it should have been raining, something to match the tears welling up in my eyes and so I cried some more.
People gathered I had never seen before came to say goodbye, and I heard others crying for him. The casket was draped with a flag, some of his veteran friends came and gently folded it and gave it to me. I was numb and my heart was breaking. I was so glad for the many people that shared this sadness with me, it is so heavy upon my shoulders I needed others to carry me for a while.
In the time after we said our goodbyes, my emotions went from one place to another. At times, I was angry at him for leaving, even though he never wanted to leave. Mostly, I was angry at myself for letting slip past so many opportunities to spend time with him, learn from him, talk to him.
I would never get another chance to do so, but I can still hear him talk to me. I know what he would say when I was challenged by life, his voice now has more authority than ever, because I now realize that he was more often right than I would admit.
A thing like this breaks your heart. It is beyond words, something that cannot be explained unless you have been there yourself. No one can imagine the pain of losing someone you love, but reality surpasses all imagination, and how I wish it wasn’t so.
My father loved to cook and he would tell such stories at the table. Everyone would become lost in the magic he wove and the lessons of the stories that before you knew it, it was the wee hours of the morning and everyone wanted more.
He taught me to a lot, yet kept many secrets. His wisdom may live on in me and I try to be a better person. He was here and touched so many people and I want you to know he lives on in his stories.
May his stories bring you peace.
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Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. (Joel 1:3)
