On my father’s passing

Eight days ago my father peacefully died after we discovered several tumors in his liver, pancreas, and spleen. Mesfin was a unique person who left a strong impression on everyone who knew him. He had a peace and joy in living that sustained him as he lived with a disability that challenged his physical mobility. He also had a determination that empowered him to endure any challenge and accomplish much in his life. If you had a chance to talk with him you’d come away mentioning how humble, happy, and wise he was.

He came to the U.S. on September 3, 1983 with my mom and older brother on a medical visa. The doctors studied his condition and classified it as a kind of spino-muscular atrophy. They gave him 6 months to 2 years to live. That was roughly 33 years ago. After coming all this way my parents had to decide: go home and enjoy what time was left or stay here. My mom couldn’t accept coming all this way only to end the journey so tragically. So they decided to stay.

They applied for a permanent visa on political asylum grounds. My father, being an evangelical Christian, faced much religious persecution, including jail-time. He even met with Ethiopia’s last emperor, Haile Selassie, on a few occasions to make an appeal to adjudicate cases for himself or others. Their application went to a case officer who was known for not handing approvals frequently and my parents’ lawyer tried to reschedule their appointment with someone else. However, when the lady saw my family and she was moved by their story and approved the application. Outside of the office, my parents and my uncle said a prayer of thanksgiving. The news came before my arrival into the world in January of 1985. They thought my delivery, in a way, brought this blessing and so they named me, “blessing,” which in Amharic is Bereket.

Our family history makes us modern-day pilgrims. For my parents, America was a land of refuge, opportunity, and religious freedom. My dad only ever watch the news or soccer, so CNN was always on the TV in our home. We were the only Republicans in our Ethiopian church, too. My dad loved to tell stories about Reagan and his wit. I inherited his interest in news and politics but took it a step further by becoming more of a movement conservative.

My father’s passing leaves a big hole in our circle. He was a leader in the local evangelical Ethiopian church and with the local Ethiopian Community Center. His character was unimpeachable and his reputation preceded him. That was evidenced by the more-than-1,000 people in attendance at his funeral. We will miss him dearly but I take comfort and joy in knowing that he ran the race and endured until the end. He is in the bosom of Abraham and enjoying his reward.

I included the remarks I made at his funeral below.

My father and hero, Mesfin Kelile, dead at 71, RIP.

My dad was the anchor in my life. His lifestyle was simple and disciplined. Every morning he got up, prayed, and ate breakfast. Every evening, he came home from work, ate dinner, and prayed. He was so consistent that I even measured the time of day around his schedule.

Failure never bothered him as much as it bothered me. He could patiently keep trying until he solved a problem or finished a task. When I was 13 or 14, we built a ramp for his scooter in the garage. From his seat, he would tell me how to arrange the pieces of wood and where to hammer the nails. I remember getting frustrated easily and wanting to quit whenever we had to stop and adjust the plans. As I fooled around or paced back and forth in the garage he just sat there thinking through the problem. With much difficulty, we finally completed that project and you can see the ramp sitting in the back of the van at our home.

My favorite memories are of him telling stories about Ethiopian history. We’d sit in suspenseful silence as he dramatically told us stories that included things you’d never read in history books. I could hear the pride in his voice and laugh as he came to his favorite parts. He was the one who instilled in us a sense of pride about our cultural heritage that I still have today.

I also inherited his interest in news and politics. The TV was always tuned to CNN as we grew up, and in recent years he watched a lot more Fox News. He was the unofficial news analyst in the church. He’d light up again telling stories about Reagan that made him give off that famous, infectious smile and laugh at weddings, birthday parties, or just entertaining guests at home. Whatever people in church knew about the events of the day, they learned it from my dad if they didn’t know already. I’m sure it’s partly why I’m now a political pollster.

My dad was also a devoted man. He always carried the responsibility that came with leadership. Many of you have told me stories recently of times that he visited you, called you, or asked about how you were doing when he didn’t see you. He was thinking of you more than you probably realized. I don’t think I appreciated that quality in him in the past as an indication of his character. He truly loved you and enjoyed seeing you.

My relationship with my dad was unique in large part because of his disability. This meant I was a caregiver and a son. I remember, as a kid, walking with him as he held my arm for balance. After being confined to scooter he relied on us more and more. Even now, it felt strange going to bed last night without putting him to sleep first. Taking care of him all these years meant that he was always on my mind. That probably wouldn’t be true if he was healthy.

The thing that amazes me most about my dad is that I can say, without exaggeration, that I never heard him complain: not about his disability, not about his difficulty finding a job for several years, not anything. His body was weak but his mind was like steel.

I don’t know how I’ll live without him. My only hope going forward from this point is to see him again, on his feet and walking without holding anyone’s arm.