Choice and grief

It's been a week since My Father's funeral. One crazy week. Flying to Vancouver with all the snow delays, trying to get around Vancouver in the worst snow in 40 years, arriving home late the night before Christmas eve, one kid throwing up 7 times all night before Christmas, then the busyness of Christmas day and boxing day, the other kid barfing the next day, and yesterday Della and I sick and in bed all day long. Thankfully, I am able to sit up now, and start climbing out of the hole.

It's fair to say my head is still spinning.

Christmas day I did my typical calls to family, and picked up my phone to call my Dad. He wasn't in Alberta much, and would only call me after months, so he was not a part of my daily activities. It's hard to change gears and realize that I can't call any more. I should be able to give him a call, and let him ask me about the weather out here. Ask him how he's doing, and get a short reply of 'hanging in there'. Then silence. Followed by me inventing more conversation starters, and more short answers. Funny that my inability to call him, is what hits me hard.

That really was my father's way: he was always interested in people and chit chat, but it was never deep. Being an usher was perfect for him. The small talk was the bulk of the communication I had with my Dad my whole life. Unfortunately, for me. The loss of my ability to call him brings it all home.

Then at the funeral, some of my fathers' friends from church and colleagues didn't even know he had sons! Let alone 2 ex wives, step children and lived 60+ years under his middle name 'George'. He had been shunned before in a church, and I imagine he dealt with that by simply not giving up too much information. One fellow board member told me he shared his life story with 'John' (the name many in White rock knew him by in the last 7 years) but had no idea that my Father had a family. Arguably his closest friend talked about some of the same things, like how my Father never accepted the fact he was dying. He never complained, but he never shared.

I've known for years there was no chance of relational intimacy with my Father, and in many ways none of this comes as a shock. What I don't think I was ready for was how stubbornly he took it all the way to the grave. I believe it's important to have relationships, and always thought something would change. I never imagined that he would seal himself off so tightly that he would die unconnected to anyone.

I have been processing this in my own life over the last 20 years, but the sense of tragedy is so poignant now. A history of missed opportunity that can never be reversed. It's all lost. He's dead now, and can never share his heart with his sons, or anyone that wanted to have a relationship with him. How could a guy strive his whole life for a deeper relationship with God, follow the examples of Christ, yet miss out on actually having relationships?

I guess some would say that just because he wasn't outwardly warm and vulnerable, doesn't mean he didn't have deep relationships from his perspective. He often told me that he thought we had a really great relationship. I never thought so, and was always dumbfounded when he said that. He had a line, and that was that.

Given the fact that over the course of his life he did no have any kind of deep relationship with anyone: how could he visit with his Savior now? What would be the point of arriving in heaven to visit his Savior and all the Saints after avoiding relationships for a lifetime? Would Christ be interested in small talk and a weather report? I imagine he would have left heaven, irritated at being dead and would be wandering around Uganda now as a spirit, trying to help, even though everyone is ignoring him because they can't see him. I'm not sure he would really notice or care. What could there possibly be to do in heaven where everything is perfect?

I guess I'm just not sure how a man who filled his life with scripture, did his devotions daily, wrestled to hear God's voice daily, abstained from anything 'evil' or 'of the world', never did anything dis-honest, loved the Lord with all his 'heart, soul and strength' could have missed the fact that the whole point is a relationship which involves self awareness and most of all trust and vulnerability. If his goal wasn't surrendering his heart to others openly and by sacrificing his agenda to be Christ to others, I'm just not sure what it was. Is doing stuff good? Or is that just busy?

Yet it is God that knows and judges the heart. I don't know how God does that, and I don't pretend to be able to judge now. If God wants us to make choices, and we are free to choose, then we cannot judge other people's choices. Perhaps just being left with a sense of tragedy is what grief is all about. Maybe we don't get to choose why.

My Father passed away

My Father passed away 20 mins ago.

I feel confused, sad, not sure what happens next.

He's been fighting cancer, and in the last 2 or 3 months been getting sicker. Just last weekend I went to visit him. He mistook me for his brother Kenny, and I panicked a bit as he said to me that he 'didn't know what the plan was'. Even though he is unable to eat, and stand, last night he was asking to leave. The nurses even had to post someone 24hrs, because he kept getting out of bed and trying to leave.

I'm not sure if that is failing to accept the obvious, or refusing to give in. Either way it is my father. Years ago as a young man in South Africa, he understood and defined exactly what and who he was. My father always chose what he wanted, always knew what he was trying to do, and was always making progress. Unfortunately that included work more than family, and being logically consistent in his own head instead of in community and dependant on others, but that was his way. He was pretty fearless, and I think he didn't know anything other than 'get the job done' up to his final hours.

When I saw him a few days ago, and unable to really have a conversation, we just sat together. That's it. Just sat. I actually was doing email on my phone, which was fine: we were together in a simple and peaceful kind of way. Just a moment of being together. He put his hand on my knee, affectionately, and whispered, 'people talk too much'. I laughed.

My Dad, John George Milne, was born June 24, 1937 and died December 11, 2008 at the age of 71 from cancer.

Good things happen in the worst times

If there ever was proof that God is there, it's at the worst times.

With my Dad very ill, it's now that all the equations change. My brother pointed out that it doesn't matter what issues you've been holding on to, someone is dying and no one has the luxury of holding on to broken things any more.

We all seem to avoid dealing with so many issues because we're busy. True, you don't want to spend your life all melancholy and dwelling on the negative things that become your 'emotional focus'. That's called self pity. Pushing through the terror and fear that affects you is the process of becoming self aware. We all need to feel the pain and understand a few things: then we need to choose what we are going to do and believe. These are the moments that define who we are.

When we do get through to labeling some things in our own minds, we suddenly can do the right things:
- see the things we can't control (because they are not our to own) and choose to trust those things to be people (or God) who needs to own them.
- realize that we need to open ourselves up to our communities (or loved ones)
- let go of the things that we need to, embrace and dwell on the things that matter

Getting to that moment when we let go requires understanding of ourselves, and that only comes through wrestling with what really matters to you. When we do that, there is peace, rest, joy that we can experience there. We are no longer defined by the brokeness of the things we cannot control.

I'm perhaps overstating the obvious, but it almost seems magical how so much pain gives way to clarity and freedom. No, I'm not overstating it. That is magical.

My Dad built 'The best fort ever'

My Dad built us the best fort ever. I remember coming home one day to find a huge 2x4 skeleton lying in the back yard, and watched as a group of men showed up to pull on ropes in the trees and lift the best fort ever up.

It had 5 levels:
- the dungeon, accessed via the trap door in the entrance level.
- the entrance level, with the ladder up the wall
- my level, where I and my friends sleept on sleep over nights
- John's level, with the balcony that opened up
- the roof observation level with the railing

From the rooftop, you could see over the roof of our split level house to the road in front.

Absolutely the best fort ever!