It's not too off mark for me to stay that my start to 2021 has been devastating. On January 26th, my Uncle Dave passed away. He was the father of my best friend, Kristen, who died tragically back in 1990. His death wasn't unexpected, but it was tragically sudden, and I am just grateful that we had said the things we wanted to say, and had the relationship in the later years of our lives that was difficult to do when we both lost Kristen.
I was a month younger than her, and so every big event in my life-high school graduation, for example-he just couldn't bring himself to attend in person. It was too painful. He would come over the day after with roses and a very sincere congratulations for my accomplishments, but 'landmark' events where he imagined Kristen would have done if her time hadn't been cut short, were impossible for him to see me doing.
But, there was a moment. It will continue to be the sweetest moment I will ever have of my Uncle Dave. After I had come home from my mission in Brazil, most of my family came out to California for my homecoming, Dave not being an exception. After a big, loud meal with the entire family, Dave quietly asked me if we could go into my Dad's home office to have a private conversation. I, for some reason, knew what this was about, but I had no idea the emotion that would come from that moment.
Dave sat down with me and sobbingly apologized for not being there for all of those important events. All of those difficult times for him to witness. He lovingly told me how proud he was of me, and his absence from those moments wasn't because he didn't love me, but it was just too hard for him.
I admit at that moment something miraculous had happened to me without my knowledge. A wisdom arose within me, as I very simply and with confidence, told him that I had understood. I understood why he couldn't do it, and I realized then that Kristen may have helped me through those times, quietly whispering to me that she understood her father and why he did what he did, and for me to give him grace. Which I did.
That conversation with Dave completely changed our relationship. From that moment on, he called me on occasion and told me he was proud of me; that he wanted to be involved in every big event in my life. He was there for my wedding, and showed so much love and support to my husband. I knew that he accepted him wholeheartedly into the family. He attended every big event in my life from that point on, if his health allowed it.
I decided that I would call him on Father's Day every year, which he loved. We would have some tender conversations about Kristen, and he would tell me over and over again how he felt so strongly that she was helping me out here, and I would confirm to him that she, indeed, was.
When I received the call that he died, I was overwhelmed with tears at the joyful reunion that he'd had with his daughter. My father told me that when Kristen died, Dave felt like a chunk of himself was taken out of him, and it never was restored. The thought that Dave and Kristen were finally together after all these years, was such a comfort to me.
After the joy and peace of that thought, real grief settled within me. I would never be able to just call him and chat; we loved to commiserate over the stupid things that our youngers siblings had done (or were currently doing). Both being the oldest children in our families, we had that common bond. A bond I know will still be there when we are reunited once more.
Attending his funeral in Arizona was a lot of feelings wrapped up into one visit. I hadn't been back to Arizona in over 17 years, and so seeing the house where Kristen and I played, where Uncle Dave had lived, and then driving around the old house where my family lived, my high school, my old church building, etc., brought back years and years of memories.
My uncle's funeral took place in the same church building as Kristen's funeral had been. That was interesting. I found it easier to walk those halls than I had done all those years ago at her passing. All in all, the trip was like I was finally able to close and lock those doors of my past, and move forward, wholly and completely in peace.
It was the next week that was hard...
My father in law was diagnosed with cancer over two years ago. Stage IV colon cancer. After a very risky surgery removing a tumor in his stomach, he had started an aggressive chemotherapy regiment, that never worked. Tumors spread everywhere; and not one round of chemo even touched them. The most it did was draw out his time in pain and suffering, while his body slowly deteriorated. Fortunately, Rob spent an entire month down in Brazil, taking his father to appointments and just spending much needed time with his family. Due to mostly financial situations, our family hadn't been able to go to Brazil for several years. My daughters had actually only physically met their grandfather Rubens just a few months before his diagnosis. They enjoyed three weeks with a grandfather that secretly had cancer. But it was a wonderful visit, and we will always remember it.
The last few days of my father-in-law's life were filled with very sacred spiritual things. Words that needed to be said were said. Feelings that needed to be shared were shared. In his last days in the hospital, his sons rotated caring for him, while my husband called him daily and sought his counsel in every day wisdom, until speech no longer came.
The day he passed away; Valentine's Day, was poetic, at least for me. My father in law and I shared a love for all things chocolate. I smiled as I realized that for Valentine's Day every year from now on, I would be eating chocolate and remembering my father in law. Not a coincidence, not even a little bit.
Which leads me to the real reason that I am blogging today. Death is inevitable. It will eventually come to all of us. Losing my uncle and my father in law was another testament to that. But once the loss occurs, something amazing happens. Your life shifts into a clearer focus for a time. Suddenly, the perspective of the entire purpose of life becomes central to everything that I think about. The minutest of details in my life that really aren't that important in the grand scheme of things, suddenly really ARE not that important! Loss is inevitable, but the love remains. I know that my uncle and my father in law love me, and that won't ever change. But, what has changed, is what I choose to do with the love that I have, and how to use it to change others that are still here with me on this Mother Earth.
Both my uncle and my father in law were good men. They were God fearing, family men. Their loved ones came first, their neighbor and stranger, second. In both of their funeral services, no mention was made of how much money they made, how they dressed or what possessions they had acquired. What was mentioned was how they changed others' lives through their love. They left behind well loved wives and children and grandchildren. Their sons and daughters' in law and their grandkids will know for certain that these men lived as God would have them to live, and they succeeded in their earthly task.
Every day is a gift. It's a gift to show others how we can love. Our lives were never been to be individualistic spheres of "self-love" only. Sure, loving oneself is obviously important and necessary, for how can we love others if we don't love ourselves? But, that indeed is the interesting paradox. We can't love ourselves if we aren't loving others. I realize that as I reflect on the lives of my lost loved ones, I am simultaneously taking inventory of myself to see where I lack. It's not self accusation, but merely reflection. Where do I need to improve? Where in my life can I let myself 'go' in order to focus on others?
There is a song that I dearly love ('Window to His Love' by Julie de Azevedo). The lyrics talk about how one could want to be a 'window' to the love of God. It goes as follows:
I want to be a window to his love
So when you look at me you will see himI want to be so pure and clear
That you won't even know I'm here
‘cause his love will shine brightly through me
So when you walk beyond you will find him
I want to stand so straight and tall
That you won't notice me at all
But through my open door he will be seen
A doorway to the truth
A bearer of the message
He'd have me bring to you
And with each passing day
I want to fade away
‘til only he can be seen
And I become a window to his love
So you can look through me and you'll see him
And someday shining through the glass
You'll see his loving countenance
‘cause I will have become like he is
But with Christ, with God, EVERYTHING is easier. It just is. I'm so grateful for what I know, that this life isn't 'IT'. SO much has happened before I was born on this earth, and SO much will happen after I leave this mortal body.
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