Holding On and Letting Go

My hero died on Thursday, January 5th.  Not on a battlefield.  Not at home.  In a nursing home.  He did not go gentle into that good night.  I cannot say it was peaceful either.  It was a long, painful battle with Alzheimers and age, and time.  He did not die alone, though.  My other hero sat beside him and watched him go.  For weeks, she held his hand.  She talked to him while he was awake - she held his hand while he slept.  She wouldn't let him be alone if he needed her. My parents were a team until the end.

Not everyone gets lucky and has two parents who stay together, who love each other, and who are committed to raising a family together.  I didn't really know that growing up.  I was blissfully unaware of divorce, single parents, and the sadness of parents who have children but don't really want children.  My parents surrounded us with other strong family units.  Inour extended family, in our neighborhood, in our church.  We saw loving, two parent homes.  It really wasn't until I started drifting outside the safe boundaries that my parents set for me that I realized not everyone was as lucky as I was.  Well, maybe at the time, I didn't think I was so lucky.  Maybe at the time I thought they were over-protective, old fashioned, even silly, to set their rules and expectations so high.  Maybe I thought I should have more freedom than I did.  But I did know my family was different that most other people outside our coccoon.  I sometimes wished Daddy wasn't so strict.  I often wondered why my mother only wanted to be a homemaker.  I thought Daddy was suspicious and overbearing.  And that my Mom didn't have a clue.  Little did I know. 

But as I got older, I started to realize that my parents had worked really hard to protect me from things that could make my life harder.  That people with more freedom had more problems, more pain, more difficult decisions to make.  And I started to be thankful.  I started wishing I could have stayed inside that safe world they worked so hard to create for me.  And I started to realize what work they had done to give us that life.  I am sure my father would have liked to not work so hard every day.  I am sure there were Sundays he was tired and would have liked to have slept a little longer and not gone to church.  But there were bills to pay.  And he was a faithful follower of the Lord, and he wanted to make sure he set the right example for us as well.  My mother would probably have liked to spend a little more time reading books and a little less time keeping an eye on us.  And when she shuffled me back and forth to after school programs rather than letting me catch a ride with just anyone, it probably wasn't her favorite thing to do.  But she knew that I would be safer with her than with a classmate.  So she made that sacrifice.  Each decision they made was not just for them.  They spent their life being dedicated to God, to family, and to community.  I cannot think of a single time my father acted selfishly and just did something for himself.  I wish he would have.  I wish that just now and then, he would have said "Today is going to be just for me" but he didn't.  And in that same way, when he got sick, my mother continued to sacrifice.  Because it would have been easier to put him in a nursing home earlier, to visit him less, to worry about herself, but she didn't.  She took care of him as long as she was able, and when she wasn't able, and he had to go to a nursing home, she went to see him every day.  She stayed with him to the end.

As I thought about that over the past few days, I marvelled at that dedication, that love, and that commitment.  They spent sixty years together, raised five children, and loved them all unconditionally.  They worked hard as long as they could, and then carried on their life in a simple, sensible way, setting an example for us all.  They treasured their families, helped out their friends and neighbors, and walked with their eyes on God.  They spoiled and loved on every grandchild, and greatgrandchild, whenever the opportunity arose. They raised children who understand love and respect, responsibility and faith.  And when my father died last week, a part of my Mom died as well.  Because their lives were truly entwined.  And that is a remarkable thing.  Most people today cannot remain commited to anything for very long.  When life gets hard, or decisions get tough, people like to walk away.  Couples break up.  Marriages disintegrate.  Families drift apart.  It is a sad reality.  I was blessed to have the life I had growing up.  My parents created for me a world that few people today will ever have.  They set a standard that few can manage.  They held fast - stood together - walked a single path. They raised a family on faith, love and support. 

And so my hero died on Thursday.  Our family is grieving.  We all know, without speaking it, that the cornerstone of our world is gone.  My brothers and sisters have lost a father who was larger than life.  Our children have lost a grandfather who showed them his world, a world they might never have known otherwise.  And our mother has lost her other half.  We all sat together and exchanged words without speaking.  How will she live without him?  How will she cope with his absence?  How will we hold her up through the pain?  But the answer is in our heritage - in the way he lived and the way he raised us.  Because he gave us those tools.  He taught us by example - to look to God for our strength - to treasure our family - to lift each other up - to carry one another when we have to.  My father lived his whole life preparing us for this moment.  So that we could carry on when he wasn't here to do it for us.  "I won't always be here" he sometimes said.  I never wanted to believe him.  I never wanted to think about that time.  But I hope we can make him proud.