Part 3: Reliving

"Hey Daddy-O. It's me. Jannie Annie. I'm here now."

I held his hand and spoke gently into his ear. The ventilator prevented any verbal response, but he responded with his eyes. Try as he might, he could not open them to see me. I knew he could hear me. "It's okay, Dad. I know you can't talk. Just listen. I want to tell you how much I love you."

God answered my prayers. This was my opportunity for closure. I stayed with him for hours, holding his hand the whole time as I reminisced.

"Wow, I bought a really great card shuffler for you on Sunday night. I was going to give it to you for Christmas, along with a cribbage board that would be easier to see the pegs, and a new deck of cards. You know, your deck is missing a Jack. I keep wondering how all of those games might have been different if we'd had it. I was looking forward to our next cribbage tournament. I think I'll buy the stuff, anyway. I want to teach Hugh how to play. I'll miss playing with you, but I'll always think of you when I play that game. I'll also think of you any time I play Yahtzee. Those were good times, too."

"I remember when Jill and I were real young, about Sophia's age. You'd be working at the drafting table in the basement, and we would come sit on the steps in front of you. You always took the time to stop working and make funny faces for us. We would double over in hysterical laughter. Our cheeks and guts ached from overuse of muscles. I remember you could wiggle your ears. I never mastered that, but I know I inherited your funny faces gene. I make silly faces for my kids all the time. They love it. And I always tell them that I got those funny faces from Grandpa."

"I recall walking to church together on Sunday mornings, sometimes just the two of us. I remember those walks well. We walked together and we talked about religion or whatever else that had me curious. We walked together to be with God. This time you'll make the walk alone, but I'm here with you, holding your hand just as you did mine. You'll always be with me. Go ahead, Dad. Walk with God. Be at peace. And I'll walk again with you one day. Good bye for now. I love you, Dad."

I shared the story of our walks with God when I delivered his eulogy. My brother and my niece also spoke, and a recurring theme arose. Dad's gifts were purposeful. A good man with good intentions, he led by example. I learned a lot from him about being ethical and moral. I'm not near the Christian he was, but I strive to be more like him every day that I live.