The Next-Wave Ezine: Issue #130

current issue index



next-wave |  about |  bookstore |  archived |  advertise |  charlie wear's notes |  links October 2009
Closure
 
 

I want to thank everyone who's prayed for me over the last few days. What could have been a hard and "low" period for me has ended up actually being a good time of closure and of thankfulness for my life.

I flew down to San Diego yesterday to bury my father. He died and was buried just how he lived, how he liked it - alone. 

I wish I could say my dad and I had a complicated history, but we don't. Far from it- it's pretty simple, actually. He was never really interested in being a dad, so he wasn't. End of story. 

I used to expend a lot of energy wishing it was different- but over the years learned to make peace with his total absence. Yes, there would be the occasional flare-ups, like when I flew the family down to San Diego last year because I wanted him to meet his grandchildren at least once in his life- and he didn't show up. 

But all in all, I've gotten to a place where being a dad has superseded having a dad in my emotional hierarchy- and yesterday was a good time of cementing that and saying good bye. 

I flew down early in the morning, got a rental car and after driving by the house I grew up in, drove to my aunt and uncle's. I bundled them in the car and we headed to the funeral home. 

This is the same place where I said goodbye to the grandparents who raised me- the same funeral home, the same chapel room, the same wooden stand their coffins sat on. 

The difference was, there were people there for both my grandfather and grandmother's funerals. Not so with this one. 

No friends. No neighbors. No acquaintances... no family other than myself and his sister and brother-in-law who'd done the hard job of taking care of him for almost a decade now. 

Depressing, but not surprising. He cultivated no friendships, didn't seem to have spoken to his neighbors at all- he lived only for himself- his next meal, his next TV show, whatever...

So in the end, he got what he wanted. 

To be alone. 

After my aunt and uncle paid their respects, I sat with him for awhile, silently saying some things. Mostly just letting go. 

I realized as I looked at him in that box that I wasn't angry, I wasn't bitter... I wasn't even sad. 

I forgave him. I forgave him and prayed that God would too- that He would have mercy on my dad, even then knowing that my dad wouldn't want or take it if it was offered. That even in the end, he would choose what he always chose- himself. To be alone. 

But it was good closure- sitting there I realized my heart was light- not happy, but simply unburdened. Closure. 

We drove to the cemetery and re-enacted what we'd just done at the funeral home. The three of us sitting there, saying a few things about my dad- but what is there really to say? 

"Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties.

After all, everyone dies— so the living should take this to heart."

I was exhausted  coming home and decided to upgrade out of cattle class to 1st class for the ride home. First time I'd ever done that... but very glad and thankful to have dinner, some space to stretch out and even this: 

When I got home, Jack and Jane ran and grabbed me shouting "Daddy, Daddy! We missed you!" 

Ahh... to be missed

My dad won't be. 

I hope to keep living and fathering so I will be.



Bob Hyatt is the lead pastor of the evergreen community, an emerging church community in Portland, OR. More importantly he is the husband of Amy and the father of Jack, Jane and Josie.

 


RECENT COMMENTS


My dad was physically present and had strengths so my experience is not exactly the same... I feel like he loved me the best way he knew how. He provided well for our family's physical needs... But then in other ways I felt like I could relate to you because he was "absent" in ways that really mattered in the formation of a child -- he didn't really provide emotional support. Couple that with a mom who struggles to this day with mental illness (that started when I was very young if not before) and you have a challenging situation that caused lots of pain. Like you, I am praying to be a more emotionally available parent to my kids and that doing so might help bring healing that will never come from my parents -- i.e., it isn't very like that they are going to wake up and say "I'm sorry" that I didn't do a better job.


I can say that after reading your article. I found myself thinking about my expericne that was similiar to yours with your dad. In the end all I can say is be a good dad to your kids. Love them and allow God to love them.


Tough to forgive someone who never felt the necessity of being forgiven. My dad split off from the family when I was three, and had no contact with us from then until he died about twenty years later. The hole he left in my life didn't develop until I was in my twenties, and took a long time to heal. But the healing was greatly helped by coming to know my heavenly Father - the one who makes up for everything that's lost - and by becoming a father (and then a grandfather) myself. And by discovering that in spite of not having had my own father around, I didn't make too bad a job of bringing up my kids.


Thanks for your transparency, it was refreshing.


I buried my dad this past year as well, but it was the opposite relationship. I ached as I read your eloquent words and admire you from a distance to resolve to let go and be the dad yours wasn't. Blessings!


Copyright © 2010 Next-Wave Ezine.
All rights reserved.


Next-Wave Ezine - Issue #130
Editorial
 
Issue Credits
 
 
Cover Story

Honor
 
 
Featured Article: At the Top
Closure
 
 
Featured Article: Spotlight
We Need Each Other if We Are on Mission
 
 
From the Publisher
Prayers God Likes
 
 
Following Jesus
Getting in the Game
 
 
Doing Church
Modern Churchianity
 
 
Church Culture
A Call to Action
 
 
Missional
Reflections of a Middle Class White Man
 
 
Emerging Church
Accidental Anglican
 
 
Culture
The Apostle and Larry Joe
 
 
Spirituality
Power
 
 
Kingdom Living
Living in the Mess