Because I was asked to post it:
These were the words I spoke at my dad's funeral. Most of you know the circumstances behind it, so I won't bore you with the details.
An irreplaceable man passed from this earth last Saturday.
Today, August 28th, 2009, I was supposed to leave with dad, Kristen, and Taa, for Universal Studios, Florida. Kristen, as is her way, had finally cajoled dad into taking her after many years of batting her eyelashes… and dad wanted me to come too. Truthfully, I was apprehensive. I’d seen my father and Taa together only once before, on his birthday four months ago. Taa was charming, friendly, and sensitive - but the road I walked to see her was a long one for a frustrated son. Dad, so deeply concerned with how Kristen and I would feel, kind of cloistered her from us - so word of the elusive Taa was scarce in my neck of the woods. Surely a week, Universal Studios or no, would be a little awkward. But it was important to dad that I go, so last Thursday I said “Alright. Get me tickets, too.” Dad had compromised for me plenty… so I knew that made him happy. We had a lot to talk about. There was much to say.
Two days later, I was on the phone with a good friend having a conversation about fathers, and their wisdom. And dad had a lot of it. Fathers do. And though we may “listen” to them… we don’t always hear them. Something I’m sure a lot of us can identify with is trying to do things our own way, no matter what advice we “listen” to. Sometimes, you can’t tell me nuthin’. But talking with my friend about my worries for the trip, he spoke some words I don’t think I’ll ever forget:
“Even if you don’t want to, you’ve got to listen to him. He’s got years of experience behind him. You know, he’s your father, and you only get one.” “This trip will be good for the both of you,” he said. “You’ll get to spend time together. And you’ve got to cherish that, because, you know, he won’t be around forever.”
The talk left me feeling optimistic about the trip. Eager, both for my dad and for myself. Quality time spent with one another had been scarce, as of late. And with him and Taa together, not nearly enough.
And that night, but a few hours later, mom walked in the door, and I learned my father was no longer with us. Our time… had run out.
Sometimes life can send you a wake-up call in the worst kind of way.
Sometimes we forget just how precious the time we have really is. That was one of dad’s favorite phrases, whenever we dragged our feet: “That’s time you can never get back.” You think you have all the time in the world and you don’t “listen,” …but that time isn’t yours to own. I’d listen to him say it… but I didn’t always hear him. That’s why I’m glad that when he asked me to come to Florida with him… I heard him.
Looking through the old photos, and all the loud printed shirts, big hair, and those… really ridiculous short shorts he used to wear, I saw all over again a devoted and loving father. Dad was tough, but he was sensitive too: he was always thinking about others. Dad supported us whether we were playing soccer, practicing karate, fencing, or acting in a theater troupe. Dad took us fishing, on road trips… usually so he could go fishing, and to the beach. To fish. There were two occasions dad was known to run red lights for: …when his children were hurt or his wife was giving birth, and when he was late for a fishing boat. Never, ever was there any doubt in my mind that he loved us, but you’ve really gotta love your child to chaperone twenty to thirty highschool kids to an anime convention. (Sorry dad). And dad was never too proud to say “I love you.”
I may never listen to my father’s voice again, but I’ll hear it. I’ll hear his advice, and his wisdom, and his encouragement… I’ve heard it in everything I’ve done all week, and I know I’ll hear it for a long time to come. He always wished the very best for us; whichever road we decided to walk. And when the shock and heartbreak passes… though the time we lost may hurt us, it will be time that heals our wounds. We’ll keep walking… and he’ll be right there with us, guiding us on the way.
---
In other news, I'm feeling much better, but my school(s) sucks, dad's fiancee' sucks, some other people suck, and I wish this headache would go away.
An irreplaceable man passed from this earth last Saturday.
Today, August 28th, 2009, I was supposed to leave with dad, Kristen, and Taa, for Universal Studios, Florida. Kristen, as is her way, had finally cajoled dad into taking her after many years of batting her eyelashes… and dad wanted me to come too. Truthfully, I was apprehensive. I’d seen my father and Taa together only once before, on his birthday four months ago. Taa was charming, friendly, and sensitive - but the road I walked to see her was a long one for a frustrated son. Dad, so deeply concerned with how Kristen and I would feel, kind of cloistered her from us - so word of the elusive Taa was scarce in my neck of the woods. Surely a week, Universal Studios or no, would be a little awkward. But it was important to dad that I go, so last Thursday I said “Alright. Get me tickets, too.” Dad had compromised for me plenty… so I knew that made him happy. We had a lot to talk about. There was much to say.
Two days later, I was on the phone with a good friend having a conversation about fathers, and their wisdom. And dad had a lot of it. Fathers do. And though we may “listen” to them… we don’t always hear them. Something I’m sure a lot of us can identify with is trying to do things our own way, no matter what advice we “listen” to. Sometimes, you can’t tell me nuthin’. But talking with my friend about my worries for the trip, he spoke some words I don’t think I’ll ever forget:
“Even if you don’t want to, you’ve got to listen to him. He’s got years of experience behind him. You know, he’s your father, and you only get one.” “This trip will be good for the both of you,” he said. “You’ll get to spend time together. And you’ve got to cherish that, because, you know, he won’t be around forever.”
The talk left me feeling optimistic about the trip. Eager, both for my dad and for myself. Quality time spent with one another had been scarce, as of late. And with him and Taa together, not nearly enough.
And that night, but a few hours later, mom walked in the door, and I learned my father was no longer with us. Our time… had run out.
Sometimes life can send you a wake-up call in the worst kind of way.
Sometimes we forget just how precious the time we have really is. That was one of dad’s favorite phrases, whenever we dragged our feet: “That’s time you can never get back.” You think you have all the time in the world and you don’t “listen,” …but that time isn’t yours to own. I’d listen to him say it… but I didn’t always hear him. That’s why I’m glad that when he asked me to come to Florida with him… I heard him.
Looking through the old photos, and all the loud printed shirts, big hair, and those… really ridiculous short shorts he used to wear, I saw all over again a devoted and loving father. Dad was tough, but he was sensitive too: he was always thinking about others. Dad supported us whether we were playing soccer, practicing karate, fencing, or acting in a theater troupe. Dad took us fishing, on road trips… usually so he could go fishing, and to the beach. To fish. There were two occasions dad was known to run red lights for: …when his children were hurt or his wife was giving birth, and when he was late for a fishing boat. Never, ever was there any doubt in my mind that he loved us, but you’ve really gotta love your child to chaperone twenty to thirty highschool kids to an anime convention. (Sorry dad). And dad was never too proud to say “I love you.”
I may never listen to my father’s voice again, but I’ll hear it. I’ll hear his advice, and his wisdom, and his encouragement… I’ve heard it in everything I’ve done all week, and I know I’ll hear it for a long time to come. He always wished the very best for us; whichever road we decided to walk. And when the shock and heartbreak passes… though the time we lost may hurt us, it will be time that heals our wounds. We’ll keep walking… and he’ll be right there with us, guiding us on the way.
---
In other news, I'm feeling much better, but my school(s) sucks, dad's fiancee' sucks, some other people suck, and I wish this headache would go away.