On the Day of My Father’s Funeral

My Dad

Every memory of my dad involves him showing up for me.

Driving me to friends houses,

to rehearsals and practices,

coming to games and concerts and shows,

to graduations, amusement parks,

and to everything in between.

From AuSable Forks

to Fredonia

to Ithaca

to Atlanta

to Baltimore

to Allentown

to Philadelphia

to Boston…

I could count on him being there.

And whether we were together or not,

I knew that he was thinking about me,

praying for me,

loving me. 

My dad always said I love you,

(and I knew that he loved me)

but he would sometimes say instead “I am loving you!”

He explained that love is not static.

It is constant and selfless and

most of all an action verb.

To love someone is to show up for them over and over

with joy and tenderness and empathy.

I had 33 years of that steadfast love in action and didn’t realize just how huge a foundation it provided for my life until the day he went home to heaven. 

When my injury happened 13 years ago,

I know it broke his heart to see me and our family in so much pain.

But he never showed that to me.

He was a calming, comforting presence throughout my deepest trials and pains.

I can’t help but think of mornings with him sitting by my bed

doing crossword puzzles with me,

rubbing my arm when I got sad,

praying with me,

joking with me. 

I love that he kept his childlike joy and wonder for this life.

I love that he taught me about God.

I love that he passed on his love of music and reading.

I love that his every action taught me what to look for in a good husband.

And most of all, I love that he loved me so much.

I’m never not going to miss you papa.

I can’t wait to see you again.