Going Home: Father’s Day

When your father is alive and well, you tend not to notice all the commercial marketing for Father’s Day. Greeting cards, suggested gifts, television ads, even old jokes about buying that perfect necktie — again — for dear ol’ dad.

It’s just another Father’s Day.

Just three months ago, my father — my best friend and the most wonderful man I’ve ever known — died. Bit by bit, in a three-week span that seemed to go by both too quickly and in slow motion, cancer ripped my life apart.

The last time my father stood up, my arms were wrapped around him, holding him. Supporting him. (Probably very similar to what he did for me as I learned to walk some 37 years ago.)

The last time I spoke to my dad, I knelt by his chair, squeezed his leg, and said “Thank you, Dad…I love you so much…thank you for everything.”

The last time my dad spoke to me, he simply said “You’re welcome. I love you too.”

That was a Tuesday afternoon. I drove back to Houston that day, and I knew. I knew I would never see my dad alive again.

I knew.

The next afternoon, my dad died.

Now all I’m left with are a lifetime of beautiful memories that send me into a tailspin of joy, sadness, laughs, tears, and a broken heart that will never be truly whole again.

So what do you do on Father’s Day without a dad to celebrate with? You simply remember him. You celebrate his life and legacy by telling others about him. You cling to every moment you shared with him. You try to make him proud.

At least that’s what I’ll do. This Father’s Day I will be at church, helping people worship the Risen Christ. Then I’ll go have dinner with my wife and sons and tell them I love them. And I’ll call my mom and tell her I love her. And I’ll watch a baseball game.

I think my Dad would approve.

Thank you, Dad…I love you so much…thank you for everything.

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