Missing Today and Every day

Missing Dad

I’m missing my dad today.  Not to say that I don’t miss him every day; it just seems more real, more raw, more realistic today than other days have been. 

Today marks one year ago that dad left the temporary bonds of this corrupt and crumbling world and was admitted into the beauty and splendor of his forever home.  While describing it from this vantage point makes his passing-his death-a little more bearable, it still does not make it easier.  My father died in the hospital in Fort Payne on November 18, 2012 at the age of 82.

He had actually been slipping away for several years, with the last year living with my brother and his family in south Fort Payne.  Taking his freedoms away, his independence was not what Jonathan or I wanted to do, but it was the best.

He actually continued to enjoy cleaning, raking leaves, watching the pet turkeys and walking the yard with the dog.  He would sit down in the yard and talk to the dog, his ever present companion during that last year.  Dad has always enjoyed being outside; God’s creation was his greatest pleasure.  For thirty two years of his professional life, the great outdoors was his office.  Having grown up on a farm, a dairy farm at that, he was prone to be outside and working hard, long hours.

Today I have been recalling stories he told through the years.  Stories that were entertaining, enlightening, and educational.  He could weave the story in such a way that only few can; I called him the “Lewis Gizzard of DeKalb County.”  In some ways I think I may have inherited that ability from him.  Oh, I’m not as good as he was, but I do feel that he left a print on me in that regards.

I know that the ability to speak publically, long and pointedly was something I inherited from him.  There have been times I wondered if maybe God called him to preach.  Yet, he was known to say that if took a heathen like him to raise two fine men.  He was no heathen; he was a good man, who loved his boys unconditionally and served them with every fiber of his being.

I’m sure that there are traits I have that came from him.  I may speak, or act a certain way, or do something and will automatically think of him.  It is just in my genes.  Tina has been known to look at me and say, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were John Fuller.”  That is high praise.

Standing in that hospital room on that Sunday morning, one year ago today, I was impacted by the way God deals with His own in death.  As a minister, a member of the Law Enforcement family, and as a former firefighter I have seen a lot of people dead or dying.  I watched the last of life ebb away both in a dramatic fashion and in a peaceful form, and all the ones in between.

On that morning I watched as Poppa took deep, linger breaths.  He was slowly being removed from this life to the life he had longed for; the life he had been prepared for over years of struggles, heartaches, troubles, and good, grand, and pleasant times.  God was gradually allowing him to pass from this life to the next.  He, that is the Father of Creation, was also giving time for the me and Jonathan to say our final goodbyes, to allow Poppa to know that we would be alright and continue to carry the Fuller name.

As that last breath faded and he body, that shell that had held the spiritual for many years, stilled there was both relief and sorrow in my own heart.  At that moment I thanked God for giving me a daddy who loved and cared; but I was saddened that he had to go, leaving me behind.  There was also a tinge of jealousy as I thought of the many who had gone before that daddy was now rejoined with and rejoicing with in that place called heaven. 

The next few days, and honestly the last year has been a haze.  How I miss him.  Being able to pick up the phone and call, just to chat.  Or those times that I needed a question answered.  Or just to hear him tell another story.  Those are days that I miss.

The other day I was driving along the road and took my phone, punched in his phone number.  Then I realized he was not there.  It is hardest when you want so badly to talk to the one who has gone and you come to understand they are not available.

Dad and I shared a special bond, one that I will never be able to fully explain.  I remember that day he took me into his confidence.  Our relationship was different, stronger, better, sweeter, and refreshing from that moment on.  It was an incredible moment for me.

I miss him but I know where he is and one day I’ll see him again.