Dear Friends,

Ten years ago this past Father’s Day I had to make an unplanned trip to Florida. My dad had just died. As I think about that time I remember the most difficult part. It wasn’t the stuff I would have thought of in advance, like the visitation time, funeral, or graveside service. My mother would have none of those things: too dark, too bleak, too phony. My dad was not a beloved man. Questions are really quite useless to ask. Answers only lead to more questions.

I have three other siblings. At the time they all lived nearby to my parents. I was the only one who came to see my mom. I still don’t understand. Questions are really quite useless. Answers only lead to more questions.

You left a message for me on my voice mail explaining that you would be in Birmingham for the next several days so you would not make our usual appointment. That’s when I was reminded of what for me was the most difficult part of my dad’s passing. It was the part I had to do alone. It was the sifting through the artifacts of someone else’s life deciding what had residual value for me.

I sat on the floor of the closet in my parents’ bedroom. In the corner on the floor I saw a ball cap my dad wore the last time we went fishing together. I caught a fish that day. I saw the shirt my dad wore the last time he and my mom took Keri and I out to eat in Chattanooga. In a dusty shoe box I found an old wrist watch he used to wear. My dad had in my eyes the biggest wrists that I ever saw. They were a man’s wrists. They were big and powerful. My wrists are thin and weak. I wish I had wrists like his. It’s strange the things that we attach meaning to. In the box I also found a letter I had written to my dad sometime during the previous months before he died.

At some point my mom told me to take whatever I wanted because Goodwill was coming to collect the rest. There was nothing that I wanted. I didn’t come to scavenge his belongings. I told my mom that I would take the old ball cap in the corner and one or two of his shirts. She made sure I found the shoe box. She told me that he kept that letter on his nightstand until he lost his mind to the pain medicine. My dad put the wrist watch in the box because he wanted me to have it. I told my mom that I didn’t understand why he would want me to have his watch. My mom told me that it was my dad’s impression from me that I had always admired it although I never said so. She told me that my dad told her that on several occasions he saw me looking at it while he wore it. It was never the watch that I wanted or admired so. It was his wrists. I wanted something from my dad that he couldn’t give me and that I was powerless to obtain for myself. That in a nutshell is the story of my relationship with my dad.

I remember thinking recently that I understand my dad better now than I did ten years ago when I sat on the floor of his closet. Most of who he was is still a mystery to me. I admit that there’s some lingering anger and bitterness on my part but then I remember his wrists and I am calmed. You see he wanted to give me his watch because he thought that’s what I wanted. If he could have he would have given me his wrists. In my mind and in my heart my dad has become a beloved man.

I’m mindful of you during this time of loss. I wish I could help in some way. I understand that there’s some places we have to walk alone. I love you guys. Please find a transcript of the note I found in my dad’s dusty shoe box.

Sincerely,
Caleb

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Dear Dad,

Please excuse me for not getting a card. I couldn’t find one that seemed appropriate. I hope you don’t mind a few words from me.

I worry about whether your heart and mind are at peace. I pray every day that you are. Some people say that when we die…..that’s it. There is nothing else, the lights go out and everything is over. Still others believe that when we die our soul waits around to be reborn. I believe that when I die I will meet God and His son Jesus Christ. It will not be the end but the beginning. I hope you have trusted Christ and are prepared to see Him.

I’m not prepared to let you go. There is some unresolved stuff between us. I wish you would forgive me for the times I was wrong and did not admit it.

Before you leave this place know this: You are my Dad and I am your son. I will miss you. Be sure that I am praying for you. Every day I ask God to take care of you. Until I see you again…..

Your son,
Caleb