Last October, my parents made what I now consider a providential visit to Fort Worth so my father and I could celebrate our mutual birthday together. I was unable to secure time off at Christmas, so my folks decided to visit me for the natal day. My brother drove up from Houston to join us. He hadn't seen my father in a year when our immediate family was together in Phoenix to celebrate Dad's 65th birthday. On our birthday in 2008, we went to church together in the morning and had brunch at Bistro Louise. We spent the rest of the afternoon just being together and around 4 p.m., I took my parents to the airport. I casually kissed my father good-bye, thinking I'd see him again in January when I planned a visit over the MLK weekend.
Phoenix, November 2008At dusk on November 3rd, I took out my trash and heard my landlord open his backdoor. He motioned me over to the deck and asked for my trash can. I was confused--why did he want my trash can? I gave it to him and he handed me his phone, saying, "It's your mom." You know it's something bad when your mom is trying to reach you through someone else.
Mom said, "It's Dad. He's gone."
I didn't wonder where. I knew.
Mom had gone outside after a nap and found Dad sitting in a chair on the side porch. He had died with some dignity and grace. Dad puttered in the yard most afternoons. On this day, Mom found his shovel and gloves propped against the fence, the back gate still open. Dad had made his way to a chair in a moment of physical weakness. He took off his glasses, placed them on the table, and closed his eyes. Shortly thereafter, he died in a spot where he spent many hours reading, drinking coffee, and talking to my mom. This remains a beautiful grace.
Whatever sadness that has attended and still attends this hard turn is overreached by a sense of satisfaction and joy--the satisfaction of knowing that one of us has finished a great race and joy at the prospect and perspective of our eternity in Christ.
