On the evening of July 6, 2008, my dad passed away after a long illness.  We expected it, had come close to it a few times, but that evening, it happened.  I truly thought he had prepared us for the eventuality - I handled it much as I expected he would want me to.  I found some solace in writing, but as the year progressed I found myself visiting places I never imagined.  Not necessarily physical locales, more emotional.  A lot of personal challenges outside of his passing.  I found myself keeping most of my emotions to myself, giving myself writing as my only outlet.  Keeping others away.  I found guilt is an incredibly powerful force.  I found seeking the forgiveness of others is nothing compared to the act of seeking forgiveness from oneself.

 

I found anger is an incredibly powerful force, not one that is easily gotten over, and I've found forgiving others can be impossible if you cannot forgive yourself.  I've yet to be able to forgive myself. 

 

I've learned other things though.  I've learned that I can be strong when called to be.  I've learned that I can stand in the face of immense sadness, and find some humor and try to make others feel some comfort.  I've learned that as strong and as fierce as anger can be, compassion and love can be as strong.  I've learned that internalizing these negative emotions is incredibly damaging. 

 

I've learned that death is a part of life, and how you handle death is part of what you leave behind.  I've learned that a grave marker is nothing but stone - that the true memorial of what marks that person's life is the legacy of who they have left behind.  Not money, not buildings, not material things.  Each time a person references something you might say, make reference to a particular memory of you, relates a story that is the true legacy and the true marker of your life.

 

My dad was a special man.  And he never knew it.  I don't know that I did enough to show him how special he was.  I will question everything I did and didn't do for the rest of my life and I am not sure I will ever be right with it.  

 

This evening, one year ago, I had the opportunity to say goodbye to the man who was the tallest man I knew growing up, the man who carried me on his shoulders, called me "little guy" and walked me to school after lunch; The man who demonstrated to me what it meant to be a man, showed me that he would always be there for me no matter what and no matter the circumstances.  I had the opportunity to share one last cup of coffee with him, tell him that I loved him, and to kiss him goodbye.  Perhaps in his passing, I was able to show him some of what he gave me during his life.  A carpenter by trade, he gave me more tools for dealing with life than he probably ever knew. 

 

I know that I had more than many with my father - a man who cared for me endlessly and who would have done anything for me.  In my sadness today, I know what I have lost - that sense of security that I have someone looking after me.  A year on, I know what the world has lost.  I mourn his passing, to be sure, but I honor his life.  A year ago, I think I was most sad for myself.  Today, I remain sad, but I'm far more able to look back and smile.   I know what I have lost, but I also know what I have learned from him - that I can be that for my children.  That I can demonstrate those things he demonstrated for me.  He taught me what I needed to do for my children and what I need to do for others. 

 

His memory will live on in those whose life his touched.  Christine, James and Delaney will carry with them the lessons of his life and are charged with making sure Daegan understands who his grandfather was. 

 

His life will never be recorded in any history book, but his life was not about that.  His life was about leaving something more meaningful than oneself.  His life was about giving others the tools, with the expectation that those tools will grow and multiply and be given to the next generation.  It was on this day one year ago - 365 days plus a fraction - that I said goodbye to my father.  As long as I live I will never forget that evening.  I may never forgive myself, but I go forth knowing he would want me to.  Dad, I miss you every day.