A Letter to My Father

Dear Dad,

Now that you're gone I see your life in perspective like I never could before.

It's been 10 years. You would have been able to count that much quicker than me, because you always carried memories, dates, names, and historical happenings in your head. I didn't. And so often I say, "I wish Dad were here. He'd remember."

I'd like to thank you for a few things that seem more precious the longer you've been gone.

Thank-you for:

Loving me unconditionally.

Being a person that loved other people, cultures, languages. It was hereditary.

Teaching me to wrap a Christmas gift.

Being a calm, safe driver.

Having grandiose ideas.

Writing music. Making sure there was a piano in our home.

Taking pictures.

Marrying my mother.

Moving to California, three times.

Speaking from the Bible so much that it is the voice in my head.

Teaching me to dig a hole and plant things.

Being the reason I have a peach tree in my backyard.

Building things with a hammer and nails.

Loving my husband and my kids.

Understanding that I've gone on with my life without you.

I feel somehow that I am a part of you and that even though you're not here, we still exist together, on some father-daughter plane. It happens especially when I say things you used to say, when I eat black licorice, when I put my towel back on the rod without jamming it in too tight (you always said that would loosen the screws so I never do it).

One more thing. Thank you for not being perfect. For having glaring faults. I have them too and it takes some pressure off.

I love you, DAD!

Three Deaths in Retrospect

I was five, fifty years ago when my grandfather, John Pierce Richardson died. I would eventually understand that president John F Kennedy, nicknamed, "Jack" was shot and killed the same day. Later in life I would discover the writings of Clive Staples Lewis, also known as "Jack" and realize that he too passed to his Maker on that day. Ironically, my grandfather resided in Washington DC and  is buried in Arlington Cemetery, a burial that had to be delayed because of the president's burial.

President Kennedy's death had no immediate impact on me but his shocking murder left an indelible mark on the nation that no one can escape; to encapsulate in contrast - a glorification of the Oval Office and the tragic sense that even the leader of the free world is mortal.

The world is richer because of the scholarly and brutally honest writings of Lewis, and I personally have considered him a 'faith and doubt mentor' of the finest order. His untimely death was certainly a sad day.

All of these men affected parts of my life, and of the three, as you might expect, my grandfather's life has had the biggest impact on mine, but not for the obvious reason that I was his grandchild. While the words of Lewis have both soothed and troubled my soul, the words of my grandfather have had a far different impact.

I never knew my grandfather; I only saw him once, and that one time is just a vague memory, aided by my mother's account of the visit, and a photograph I've seen in which he stands behind the bending form of my grandmother, a silent observer. I only know that he was a resourceful man and talented musically, trained as a concert pianist. For some reason, he suffered from either mental illness, or a consistently negative outlook. My mother recalls mostly angry profane words directed towards herself and her brother. That sad fact led to her glorious conversion to Christianity, to the Heavenly Father who speaks peace and love towards his children, when she was a young child.

Several months before her father died she felt a strong compulsion to write him a letter telling him of her faith and reaching out to him in a way she never had. It was a difficult choice, but she made it, not knowing of his illness and consequent death at fifty five (my current age).

There had been no form of faith in her home. Yet, it is from her that I receive the example of faith in living form, and my grandfather's model notwithstanding, a steady stream of loving and affirming words. She epitomizes the opposite of what she received.

So on this day I mourn three, but rejoice in the day, and what it has brought me.

Sobering and Thankful Times

I laid to rest an old friend last weekend. Besides the obvious shock (he was a year younger than me) and sadness, came an unexpected gift. In the wake of the reality of death, I found a new permission to get my affairs in order, due to the fact that none of us knows when we will draw our last breath.

I knew my friend well enough to be certain that he had planned well in advance for his family to be taken care of, and I have in my usual haphazard way allowed myself to believe that "I can take care of that someday".

Thank you, my friend for the gift of your life and the gift of your death.

Change; the Great Constant

Imagine a world where nothing ever changed. The leaves on every tree remained, and fruits grew year round with no budding, no emptying harvest. No new people were born, and the people on earth just stuck around because they never aged. What if perpetual even temperature ruled, with no fluctuation in weather?

Utopia? Or nightmare?

I personally am bored without change.

And I'm simultaneously traumatized by it. This past season has brought the unexpected death of several men in the prime of life, both in the public eye, and in my private acquaintance. This kind of change is horrifying, and sobering. But, it also allows an opportunity to peer into the unknown with greater interest, and to view a life in its totality.

The death of Steve Jobs opened a door of appreciation for the man and his contribution to the world that made his living image pale by comparison. The sadness of our loss remains, however, as change is always bittersweet. We cannot have something new without giving up something old. The concept of 'eternal exchange' entombs the idea of trade; tit for tat.

The revolving seasons, the daybreak and evening sunset remain as a pulsing reminder that we are still here. At any time unexpected change could occur, while everyday the comfort of daily and seasonal change lulls us through life like a child rocked by its mother.

I remain in wonder at the paradox.