Coping With Dad's Death, 10 Years Later

I start to write this note at almost the exact moment, ten years later, that Dad passed away.

Jack and I had been at the house visiting what we knew to be his final days, the noble end of an 18 month bout with cancer of the liver. By the grace of God we happened to come inside from raking leaves looking for Mom, to find her up at the side of her husband of 40 years. His consciousness had mostly left him days before, palliated by drugs of the hospice nurse. Still, as he worked through his final few breaths, I was compelled to take his hand and whisper "It's all right, Dad, it's all right," as he slipped away.

Even writing this here all these years later moistens my eyes. I would have loved for him to be here at 76 years young, sitting a few rows back in the stands at a NCHS game, watching his son helping young men grow as he did, and groaning involuntarily at missed layups.

I wonder how much his death may have affected me psychologically in subtle ways that I still fail to grasp. Perhaps not at all.

I have no great insight for anyone else coping with the loss of a loved one. It's individual and personal.

What I can say is that I do what I can to accept and depersonalize death. I have never felt angry with God, who's given both Dad and me so much life to enjoy, and bodies that last for only a speck along an infinite timeline. I don't mourn for myself, since I continually have new people in my life to teach me its precious lessons and bless me with great joy. I pray that my family is also at peace.

I'm thankful for all that I've had, and do have, and especially for what I will have. Today is not of lasting sadness or regret. It's another gift to be cherished abundantly, in a way a bit more special than most any other day of the year.