Member-only story
I’m Ready to Talk about my Father. Probably.
He died in January this year, his birthday month.
I had just started a new job and wanted to make a good impression, so I took only one day off in addition to the weekend, driving straight from work to the airport, and leaving the cold cemetery to go straight to the airport.
It’s taken me a while to stop mentally walking on eggshells.
He’s really gone.
I didn’t get to speak at the funeral. So, here’s my eulogy:
His health had always been a challenge. In fact, he’d been so close to death a couple of times that I had pre-grieved him.
Does anyone else do that, or is it just me?
If you met him, he’d try to tell you a joke. He’d be personable. If you were a waitress, he’d give you a religious pamphlet (“tract”). From the pulpit he was upbeat, direct, humorous, occasionally innovative, and very certain he was right.
If he got angry, he was scary.
He wasn’t just my father, but also my pastor. He was also the head of my school. There was no escaping him.
Even at university, people knew him, because he had attended there, taught there, spoken in chapel there, and been let go from there.
