A friend's father died just a couple of days ago, and she is struggling to resolve her feelings, remember the good despite the bad, and heal her heart. Our situations are not quite identical, but I can empathize with the anguish of sorting out the regrets and joys that come when someone so a part of our identity and essence dies.
After my Dad died, a friend of his told me that Dad couldn't believe we loved him so much. He was putting so much weight on his regrets and perceived failures that he just didn't feel that he lived up to the love he was receiving.
I remember a man who for too long identified himself as the son of an alcoholic, who had devastating episodes of depression, and who lost his temper. He struggled with his work life, and was unemployed numerous times.
I choose to remember those things about him honestly, but only in the light of so many other memories that I treasure. I remember the guy who made us kids laugh at the mall by rearranging the wigs on the mannequins. He took us to a restaurant that let you throw peanut shells on the floor just because he knew we'd have a blast doing it. He taught us faces, noises, and jokes, and may have enjoyed it all more than we did. He prayed with us at bedtime.
He told us about the crazy pranks he played at boarding school, and made us glad that we didn't have to march in the "bull pen" when we got in trouble. He explained how he picked bugs off the maid's bug net in Cuba, a required chore before she would get up and make breakfast for him. He told of being mistaken once for a teen celebrity, and graciously signing autographs for his adoring fans. He made his childhood sound so fun, even though I would later learn that it wasn't always.
He faithfully took us to zoos, doctor's appointments, soccer practice, mountains, and seashores. He made sure to say that he loved us, and wasn't shy about giving hugs, as I would later find out so many fathers were uncomfortable to do. He was offered a better job in a bigger city, but turned it down because he didn't want us to experience the upheaval of moving around like he did.
He came to visit me while I was pregnant with my first child. He teared up as he walked off the plane and caught sight of my growing belly. His mother had just died, and he was coming to give me her wedding ring. Years later he would also give me my own mother's wedding ring.
How quickly he devolved from his vibrant self to his infirm self! It happened in the space of a day, in the breadth of one late night phone call. The latent child inside of him surfaced, hungry for love and dependent on others. Roles reversed.
I still go to bed at night and find myself replaying hospital scenes: the mysterious slumber of a coma, the blessing of friends gathered to pray, the bluffing bravery I donned to question doctors, the chill of waiting rooms. We began our collection of last times: the last time going through photos, the last phone conversation, the last rambling late-night talk.
In the end, I put the negative things aside and remembered the love. When I balance this ledger, the bad can be written off. Oh Dad, don't you know that no matter what regrets we had, love covers over all? (Prov.10:12) How very human of us to give in to that fallen nature and be dragged down, how divine and beautiful the healing power of love despite it all!
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