Post Mortem
My father passed away at 8:35 last Thursday night. I'm still getting used to saying that but it's already getting easier. I've had to say it a lot in the last few days.
When you finish a project in my industry, you have a delivery party and then a post mortem. That's a morbid term for a project but it's appropriate for this. My father's work is done. He left 4 children and a wonderful wife. At the end of a project, you like to look back on it and see what went right, what went wrong, and what you can learn from each of those things. I'm processing my father's life. I want to figure out what he is now that he's in the past tense. After all, no life should end at the ending. Everyone touches someone, for good or for ill. Here is the post mortem, per me, on my father.
If you had one thing to say about him, you would say he was really brilliant. He was a polymath; a Renaissance man. He had a degree in aerospace engineering, a masters in Theology that led to his career as a Methodist minister. He had another degree of some kind in personal finance and a CFP which led to his second career as a financial planner. He had hobbies like rebuilding cars from a barely functional body. He could fix anything electronic or with any sort of engine. I saw him build tree houses and outdoor furniture, and refinish things for the inside. He taught me how to cook everything I make for breakfast and most of what I know how to grill. People tell me that it seems like I know something about everything, and that they eventually start to be surprised when they find things I haven't done. If they feel that way, they should have met my father. He knew something about seemingly everything, and when he found a hole in his knowledge he would find out everything he could about that. He owned thousands of books and read them endlessly.
He taught me something he never said. He would find difficult things to do and then would do them so that when he needed the ability, he wasn't stuck figuring things out then. Much of what I have done as an adult that impressed him are the things that he wanted to do but hadn't followed through to his own satisfaction. He loved my musical versatility and apparently told everyone about my bands and my songwriting. He told me many times that he wished he had decided to run a marathon, and could not wait to see me run mine. He was impressed with my trivia and wanted me to eventually go abroad with the Diplomatic Corps or the Peace Corps. One of those things may eventually happen because I have learned the lessons he taught. I too do difficult things because I can and because they are hard. If they're easy things, other people can handle it. I expect more out of me, just like he did.
He loved learning, and taught me how to do research and how to learn. He never learned to listen as well as he might, but he always was willing to admit he was wrong when he found out he was. He also never held a grudge. If he had an argument with someone, he would make amends as quickly as possible and taught us all never to stay angry with someone if they honestly wanted to make amends. He also taught us how to be friends with people we didn't agree with. I'm not sure if I heard him say this or not, but I'm sure I've said it after I learned it from him. When someone was doing something he knew was wrong, he would tell them (roughly) "Well, that's your decision. I guess you don't have to be right."
The frustrating thing was that he was right a lot more than he was wrong. He would admit his mistakes, but he just didn't make that many of them. He wasn't always good at reading people, but he was good at explaining and he truly cared about people. He wanted to help everyone. It was who he was. So even when he was telling people things that they didn't want to hear, and was doing it in an overly-blunt way, you still knew he cared about them. If his criticism was focused on you, it wasn't comfortable, but you knew it was well intended.
He was an excellent cook. He was a brilliant man. He was the best father I have ever seen. There are other people who are as lucky as I was, but none luckier or more blessed.
When you finish a project in my industry, you have a delivery party and then a post mortem. That's a morbid term for a project but it's appropriate for this. My father's work is done. He left 4 children and a wonderful wife. At the end of a project, you like to look back on it and see what went right, what went wrong, and what you can learn from each of those things. I'm processing my father's life. I want to figure out what he is now that he's in the past tense. After all, no life should end at the ending. Everyone touches someone, for good or for ill. Here is the post mortem, per me, on my father.
If you had one thing to say about him, you would say he was really brilliant. He was a polymath; a Renaissance man. He had a degree in aerospace engineering, a masters in Theology that led to his career as a Methodist minister. He had another degree of some kind in personal finance and a CFP which led to his second career as a financial planner. He had hobbies like rebuilding cars from a barely functional body. He could fix anything electronic or with any sort of engine. I saw him build tree houses and outdoor furniture, and refinish things for the inside. He taught me how to cook everything I make for breakfast and most of what I know how to grill. People tell me that it seems like I know something about everything, and that they eventually start to be surprised when they find things I haven't done. If they feel that way, they should have met my father. He knew something about seemingly everything, and when he found a hole in his knowledge he would find out everything he could about that. He owned thousands of books and read them endlessly.
He taught me something he never said. He would find difficult things to do and then would do them so that when he needed the ability, he wasn't stuck figuring things out then. Much of what I have done as an adult that impressed him are the things that he wanted to do but hadn't followed through to his own satisfaction. He loved my musical versatility and apparently told everyone about my bands and my songwriting. He told me many times that he wished he had decided to run a marathon, and could not wait to see me run mine. He was impressed with my trivia and wanted me to eventually go abroad with the Diplomatic Corps or the Peace Corps. One of those things may eventually happen because I have learned the lessons he taught. I too do difficult things because I can and because they are hard. If they're easy things, other people can handle it. I expect more out of me, just like he did.
He loved learning, and taught me how to do research and how to learn. He never learned to listen as well as he might, but he always was willing to admit he was wrong when he found out he was. He also never held a grudge. If he had an argument with someone, he would make amends as quickly as possible and taught us all never to stay angry with someone if they honestly wanted to make amends. He also taught us how to be friends with people we didn't agree with. I'm not sure if I heard him say this or not, but I'm sure I've said it after I learned it from him. When someone was doing something he knew was wrong, he would tell them (roughly) "Well, that's your decision. I guess you don't have to be right."
The frustrating thing was that he was right a lot more than he was wrong. He would admit his mistakes, but he just didn't make that many of them. He wasn't always good at reading people, but he was good at explaining and he truly cared about people. He wanted to help everyone. It was who he was. So even when he was telling people things that they didn't want to hear, and was doing it in an overly-blunt way, you still knew he cared about them. If his criticism was focused on you, it wasn't comfortable, but you knew it was well intended.
He was an excellent cook. He was a brilliant man. He was the best father I have ever seen. There are other people who are as lucky as I was, but none luckier or more blessed.