An anniversary

While I certainly don't consider myself a writer, I usually don't have a difficult time sitting down and writing about what's on my mind. I suppose that's what nearly 15 years of blogging will do for you. Lately, however, I have been finding it difficult to write because I am not sure what to write about. Last Friday, for example, I wrote about why I don't really care for what passes as "Christmastime." I tried not to be too disparaging because I know and not only like but love a lot of people who really get into this time of year.

While I can't remember a time in my life when I "liked" "Christmastime," my dislike of the season increased greatly when, on Saturday, 18 December 2010, I received a phone call from my Dad and Mom. The reason they called was to let me know that my Dad had been diagnosed with Stage 4 esophageal cancer. At that point, they weren't sure about the prognosis other than it didn't look good.

My Dad

As you might imagine, I was stunned. I made it through the call. As I was explaining to my curious wife what my parents just told me, I broke down into tears. While I have been known to get a little misty-eyed and perhaps get a lump in my throat on occasion, I had not cried like that since I was a child and haven't cried like that since. While I have experienced some traumatic things in my life, I was never more devastated than I was that Saturday evening ten years ago. To make a short story even shorter, my Dad made it through the holidays very well, enjoying each and every moment. He died on Monday, 17 January 2011.

Just as my Dad showed me how to live, he showed me how to die. He faced death with awe but also with courage. He was more worried about my Mom, my sisters, and me than he was about himself right to the very end. But, then, that's who he was. Ten years later all of this is still very fresh in my mind. I still my Dad every day. As painful as it can be at times, I certainly don't ever want to forget him.

After crying it out, I asked to be left alone. I immediately began praying but not in a petitionary way, more in a "Lord, speak to me" kind of way. After a few minutes, a word from a Rich Mullins song entered my mind: "Alrightokuhhuhamen." And so, I listened to this song three times back-to-back. I readily admit that there is more than a little desperation in this. I don't mind admitting that I need to believe that someone has this whole crazy thing within their remit and that, in the end, it will alright.

When I awoke this morning and looked out my kitchen window, it was gray and snowy. As the sun came up and I looked West out my bedroom window, there is blue sky out there on the horizon.

On this sobering anniversary, our Friday traditio is the late Rich Mullins singing "Alrightokuhhuhamen"-