I am going to start a tradition. I am going to post the same thing for my dad every year. It is the poem and prose I wrote for him the day of his funeral. Just re-reading those words gives me hope and a brief remembrance of the man I called Dad.
A trickling flow
Fragments of recycled wisdom
Carried in Broken
It stains our shoes
and gives us hope.
“I have conversed and seen everyone but the one man I want to see and talk to. Yet in each person who is here there are pieces, fragments, of my dad. It is some memory, kindness, or truth caused by my father. The more people that congregate, the closer I am to having my dad back. The closer I am to hearing his voice, feeling his touch, and seeing his heart.
I long to smell his fragrance and feel his strength in a hug. I want to see his lip quiver as he talks about the thing of God. Ah, yeah, to hear him sing off key and clap in an off beat rhythm (would make my day).
Each person (here) will carry the memory of my dad everywhere they go and leave behind residue of his person, his essence, and his heart. If you knew him, you’ll never forget him and if you didn’t know him, you would have been better for it.”
[ I wrote this the day before the funeral. Rev. Terry Gillium read this during his sermon, he honored a grieving son’s request. I am forever grateful.]
Rest Well Pops, you earned it.