I’ve been thinking a lot about my Dad lately. This May will be two (2) years since he has been with us. It seems like yesterday when he was still lingering in that hospital bed and I was able to lean down and kiss his forehead and whisper that I loved him, something that I had been too embarrassed to do or say for most of my adult life.
In a way, his 5-year struggle with cancer was a blessing, as it was a wake-up call that we all recognized as a message from God saying, ‘Life is short. Live it while you can. Family matters. God matters.”
I don’t know if I ever would have kissed my Dad again, had he met his demise in some other way, such as a heart attack or sudden accident. Sure, he displayed affection to me when I was a little boy. I remember him taking me in his arms and swinging me around and hugging me when he was proud of something I had done. But sadly, somehow, when boys start to grow into men, many lose the ability to show affections that were once perfectly natural in our younger days.
So, with him lying there, I bent down and kissed him. It was so hard because men are not supposed to do that, right? But I am glad that I was able to overcome my inhibitions and do it.
Dad taught me a lot about emotions. His favorite emotion (if you can call it an emotion) was laughter. He loved jokes – clean ones. And there are some of my dad’s jokes that I probably heard over 100 times. Most were pretty corny. In fact, many of the times when his jokes elicited laughter…his audience was not laughing with him, but at him and how stupid his joke was.
Yes, Dad taught me how to laugh; but he also taught me how to cry. He wasn’t afraid to cry in front of his children. He would always cry when a movie ended happily. Dad would weep for joy when he heard about our accomplishments and accolades.
I remember when our dog got hit by a car when I was in the 7th grade. Dad cried louder and harder than me or younger sister.
In the final months of Dad’s life as he battled valiantly with cancer, Dad kept telling us how he wanted to go home. “I want to go HOME,” he would say over and over again. “Dad, you ARE home, ” my sisters and I would answer. “No, I’m not. No, I’m not. I want to go HOME.”
They say there’s no tears in heaven, but my family knows that this is not true…because on May 15th at 5:16 p.m., 2007, my dad was probably so excited that he cried as he embraced Jesus and heard the words, “Welcome HOME.”
