Dad, Higher Ground . . .

Dad, I woke up this morning and looked at my “on this day” memories on Facebook, and there it was – memories of you and Kai.

And suddenly this peculiar feeling washed over me as I realised that it is exactly 3 months since your funeral. Three months! I reached for your funeral pamphlet to see the name of the hymn, your favourite (which I of course was oblivious to until the day we had to decide on the hymns that was to be sung on this odd day).

I listened to the hymn, and as crisp as a cold winter’s morning, there we were, in your car. You and mom all dressed in your best – Kai and I your passengers in the back. Listening to “Higher Ground”. Those moments in your car. Heavenly.

These were the very rare moments when we experienced you in your spiritual element, at great peace and in very deep thought, clearing your mind for the service that you were to lead.

Your favourite hymn, and there you were lifted and your feet planted on Higher Ground, the 28th of May 2017, your prayers answered.

I am caught off guard when these moments arise. Moments where I experience with great clarity the emotions of others surrounding me during your illness and after your death. Moments where I am left wondering how it is possible for one person to touch so many lives where even stories of your young adulthood are reflected upon with great humour and joy.

Earlier this week we had an unexpected visit from a couple whom you were quite fond of. Their life journey, an inspiration to you as a man of great wisdom and spirituality. We welcomed them with open arms, as we sat in the lounge listening to mom sharing the many stories of your life together. Funny stories. Inspirational stories. The good old days, and you transformed your life and that of others just through being you. The freaking legend that you are!!

While we sat chatting in the lounge, Kai played with his cars, listening at the door. These stories he too soak up, stories of his Pa as a young man. How truly blessed we were that you shared your stories – willingly, with great enthusiasm and humour. I am grateful for the stories you told of your childhood, the community you grew up in, your family – and later our family, that has touched my life and has helped me become the person I am today.

Dad, this morning I am caught up in the eye of the storm of your precious life that is no more . . .

My dad was diagnosed, unexpectedly, with stage 4 pancreatic cancer on 16th May 2017. He died 12 days later, there was no battle, only dignified acceptance.

I Saw You In His Pain

Killing The Pain

A Final Lesson From My Dad

Keeping It Real Dad

Finding My Voice, A Father’s Love

No Healing. Only Acceptance