Today as I was dusting off some pictures, I picked up a photo of my Mom and Dad. Staring back at me were my parents when they’d come to visit about ten years ago. We’d taken them to see the model of Jerusalem in the Holy Land Experience. My father really enjoyed the visit, and they are standing in front of the model. I had several moments of nostalgia as I stared at the photo.
I’ve been missing him lately; it’s been nearly a year since he passed away.
Sometimes I wonder what he’s doing in heaven. Is he building a mansion? He so loved to work with his hands. Is he watching some heavenly football game? He did love sports. Is he meeting with relatives that have gone on before? I’m sure he’s enjoying catching up. Maybe he’s having a conversation with Abraham or Paul. Whatever it is, I’m sure he is staying busy, and I know he’s lovin’ it up there! After all, I hear there are streets of gold, gates of pearls, and foundations of gemstones.
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| My father shortly after he entered the nursing home in 2008. He had advanced Alzheimer disease by this time. He didn't even know who I was. |
When Dad left this earth, my Mom wanted help cleaning out his closets. Three months after his death, we made a trip up to South Carolina to help my Mom clean out his clothes. She didn’t want to do it alone because it signified the end of a long, happy marriage and the finality of losing her best friend in life. It was important to help her get through the emotions of discarding his clothes.
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| My Mom and Dad when they came to visit us on our second furlough in New York in 1990. We went together to visit Niagara Falls. |
Hauling them out, we began to sort. Seeing his clothes brought back memories - the strange green sport coat he used to wear to church, the worn and tattered work jacket he used in winter while working in his shop, and the favorite red and green plaid shirt my brother gave him. As we bundled up items and placed them in plastic bags, we came across a wool sweater that I remember him wearing forty years ago when I was a child. It had wide grey, black and brown horizontal stripes. I decided to keep his sweater. My Mom kept his plaid shirt. Those would be our physical reminders of him.
I pulled out a plastic container from under the bed. Looking in the bin, I saw a pair of shiny dress shoes with tassels that he often wore to church, well-worn from years of use. I paused and thought of whose feet had filled those shoes. It seemed wrong to throw my Dad’s shoes in the give-away bag. But I did. He no longer needed them. Dale hauled all the bags out of the house, and we drove off to donate them. A lump rose in my throat as we unloaded the car and left all his clothes in the local Goodwill.
Today as I stared at the picture of my Dad smiling back, I thought of what a good father he had been. He was all the things a father should be, and I was so blessed to have been his daughter.
Someone will be walking around town now in my Dad’s shiny black tasseled shoes. I hope they wear them as well as he did. Since my father no longer needed those shoes, I take comfort in the fact that he’s dancing on gold streets and enjoying the wonders of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn; for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4 NET).
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