Saturday, January 22, 2005
That Last Squeeze
350 people came today to celebrate with us a life that has meant so many different things to so many people.
"Well, he wasn't a saint," proclaimed the Bishop, "and the first row(the sons and their family) can certainly attest to that!" Yes, we can.
He had a temper and he used it frequently when we were growing up. He was the classic example of the "bark worse than the bite" theory. No Rotweiler ever could stand up to him when he got going, especially if he had ample evidence of our wrongdoing. He traveled frequently and Mom would do the usual: "wait until your father comes home!" We would and he always did. He was a child of his generation and found it very difficult to express any kind of direct affection. Hugs were rare.
Our favorite times with him were when he was at the office. He was relaxed then and often bragged about us to the people he knew. That's when we would find out how proud he was of us. It was always very reassuring to hear those moments of bravado on his part. At home I think he felt like he had to be someone else, more strict, more remote. After all, that's the way his father was.
Where Dad and I found a bond was through music. I was gifted with a pretty good voice and he was an outstanding singer. We both loved singing and he was really proud of the times that I would sing solos at school or church or stand in church and sing a hymn with him. Although nervous that I would never make a living at it, he was very excited when I decided to go to school as a musician. In his dresser the other day I found the composition I wrote for my Master's Thesis along with the recording of it which I completed over 30 years ago. This was so like him. He never told me how important that was to him, he just kept it close to himself for 30 years.
Surrounding me today were overwhelming feelings of loss and joy coming from the people who knew him in his later years. They described a rascally curmudgeon filled with the Holy Spirit who gave much and took little, whose professional and personal contributions to the life of the Episcopal Church of Colorado will not soon be forgotten. A man who could stand up to all and who loved and was loved by many.
Who was that man? Was that my Dad? Is that the man I mourn?
No, I think that service, as overwhelmingly beautiful as it was, was really for those who knew him in his later life. My memorial service is in my heart. It's in the reconciliation of the conflicting feelings I have about how fathers should behave toward their children. It's in the understanding and forgiveness of my father's anger. It's in the grieving for the loss of affection in the early part of my life and in the joy of regaining it in later years.
And, it's in the memory of that last hard squeeze of his hand that night which said everything he left unsaid his entire life.
"Well, he wasn't a saint," proclaimed the Bishop, "and the first row(the sons and their family) can certainly attest to that!" Yes, we can.
He had a temper and he used it frequently when we were growing up. He was the classic example of the "bark worse than the bite" theory. No Rotweiler ever could stand up to him when he got going, especially if he had ample evidence of our wrongdoing. He traveled frequently and Mom would do the usual: "wait until your father comes home!" We would and he always did. He was a child of his generation and found it very difficult to express any kind of direct affection. Hugs were rare.
Our favorite times with him were when he was at the office. He was relaxed then and often bragged about us to the people he knew. That's when we would find out how proud he was of us. It was always very reassuring to hear those moments of bravado on his part. At home I think he felt like he had to be someone else, more strict, more remote. After all, that's the way his father was.
Where Dad and I found a bond was through music. I was gifted with a pretty good voice and he was an outstanding singer. We both loved singing and he was really proud of the times that I would sing solos at school or church or stand in church and sing a hymn with him. Although nervous that I would never make a living at it, he was very excited when I decided to go to school as a musician. In his dresser the other day I found the composition I wrote for my Master's Thesis along with the recording of it which I completed over 30 years ago. This was so like him. He never told me how important that was to him, he just kept it close to himself for 30 years.
Surrounding me today were overwhelming feelings of loss and joy coming from the people who knew him in his later years. They described a rascally curmudgeon filled with the Holy Spirit who gave much and took little, whose professional and personal contributions to the life of the Episcopal Church of Colorado will not soon be forgotten. A man who could stand up to all and who loved and was loved by many.
Who was that man? Was that my Dad? Is that the man I mourn?
No, I think that service, as overwhelmingly beautiful as it was, was really for those who knew him in his later life. My memorial service is in my heart. It's in the reconciliation of the conflicting feelings I have about how fathers should behave toward their children. It's in the understanding and forgiveness of my father's anger. It's in the grieving for the loss of affection in the early part of my life and in the joy of regaining it in later years.
And, it's in the memory of that last hard squeeze of his hand that night which said everything he left unsaid his entire life.
# posted by Michael Christopher : 12:59 AM
Furl It