Last Sunday, I woke up with a full heart and a restored spirit. I had spent the weekend with a dear friend at a lovely resort allowing women from all over to pour into me their stories of successful fostering and adoption. I attended a conference called Created for Care and it was just what I needed. The Lord reminded me that He has the plan for our Foster Children in His care- but even bigger than that- He has me in His care, too.
Angela and I got on the road and chatted for 2 hours as we drove toward Winston. We stopped for lunch in Spartanbug, and as we got out of the car I saw I'd missed numerous calls and had urgent texts from my brother. Obviously something was wrong- Angela offered me some privacy as she went in the restaurant and I stayed in the car to call Chris back.
Those next moments are a blur - but in them I learned the news that my Daddy had died.
I found Angela inside, threw keys at her, and somehow she got me up the mountain to Asheville as I heaved and wept and cursed and screamed.
Even as I type these words- it makes no sense.
The story is this: at some point between Saturday at 9:45pm (the last time my brother spoke to him) and early Sunday morning, my Daddy fell down his stairs. Simple as that. The impact of his fall ("head trauma caused by accidental fall") killed him- and we are choosing to believe it was a quick death. Knowing my Daddy- even if he survived the impact, he was such a wuss about injury, he probably passed out and was unable to suffer. :)
My precious brother was the one who found him- Chris was headed by there on his way out of town. I am beyond grateful for my brother's wisdom as he handled the situation (and as he tried, unsuccessfully, to reach me for two hours)... but I ask everyone reading these words to pray for Chris in the days to come: seeing your father in such a way is something that is not easy to put aside. He has been an amazing support to me in this last week... I ache for his heart and mind.
The next few days are a jumble. I texted my best friends as I drove with Angela letting them know even as I knew very little. I talked briefly to a few people over the next day or so- still unable to give them many details (we didn't piece together it all until Wednesday or so)- and still unable to put words around this ache and confusion in my heart. Friends arrived from Winston to take care of Elizabeth while we met at the Funeral Home... they came from Atlanta to buy us lunch... people put together meal schedules for us when we came back home... they cooked and cried and drove and prayed and laughed because as my Daddy taught us all, it's just what you do.
Still, typing all this- it makes no sense.
My Daddy and Mary both asked for no visitation and no funeral. While we respected their wishes, it sucks. Funerals are not for the deceased, they are for those left behind. Neither of them cared for the outpouring of grief, "the looks", the standard pat responses, the people coming out of the woodwork who were not present in daily life of the deceased- but somehow showed up first to mourn. I get that. But as the one remaining- who wants to be with all of the people who knew him and hear the stories and get the hugs... it's hard.
I've been surrounded by friends this week. I've had the chance to do just that- we've told the stories, laughed, hugged and wept... and it has been what's allowed me to survive this madness. We've remembered moments from childhood as well as recent days. And I need more... I crave it. Not in a "please interview me about my father" way, but just in the way he lived- by story telling. If you have Stan Stories- please share them with me. I need to hear them now... but, remembering this same road from 17 months ago with Mary's death... I'll need to hear them in the days and weeks to come. The stories are what are getting me through. They are what are helping me make this all "well with my soul."
I typically like to end my posts with some final thought or wrap-up sentence. But I don't have one today. I can't find words to tie all this up before I hit "publish". And that's kind of what my days feel like- I can't wrap them up and piece them all together. My heart is broken because the person who loved me best and taught me how to love is gone. He was larger than life... and now, somehow, my life feels smaller knowing he's not around. I can't stay in this ache forever- and I am thankful that I won't.
I hated this week. But I loved my Daddy. And thank God I knew daily that he loved me.
Angela and I got on the road and chatted for 2 hours as we drove toward Winston. We stopped for lunch in Spartanbug, and as we got out of the car I saw I'd missed numerous calls and had urgent texts from my brother. Obviously something was wrong- Angela offered me some privacy as she went in the restaurant and I stayed in the car to call Chris back.
Those next moments are a blur - but in them I learned the news that my Daddy had died.
I found Angela inside, threw keys at her, and somehow she got me up the mountain to Asheville as I heaved and wept and cursed and screamed.
Even as I type these words- it makes no sense.
The story is this: at some point between Saturday at 9:45pm (the last time my brother spoke to him) and early Sunday morning, my Daddy fell down his stairs. Simple as that. The impact of his fall ("head trauma caused by accidental fall") killed him- and we are choosing to believe it was a quick death. Knowing my Daddy- even if he survived the impact, he was such a wuss about injury, he probably passed out and was unable to suffer. :)
My precious brother was the one who found him- Chris was headed by there on his way out of town. I am beyond grateful for my brother's wisdom as he handled the situation (and as he tried, unsuccessfully, to reach me for two hours)... but I ask everyone reading these words to pray for Chris in the days to come: seeing your father in such a way is something that is not easy to put aside. He has been an amazing support to me in this last week... I ache for his heart and mind.
The next few days are a jumble. I texted my best friends as I drove with Angela letting them know even as I knew very little. I talked briefly to a few people over the next day or so- still unable to give them many details (we didn't piece together it all until Wednesday or so)- and still unable to put words around this ache and confusion in my heart. Friends arrived from Winston to take care of Elizabeth while we met at the Funeral Home... they came from Atlanta to buy us lunch... people put together meal schedules for us when we came back home... they cooked and cried and drove and prayed and laughed because as my Daddy taught us all, it's just what you do.
Still, typing all this- it makes no sense.
My Daddy and Mary both asked for no visitation and no funeral. While we respected their wishes, it sucks. Funerals are not for the deceased, they are for those left behind. Neither of them cared for the outpouring of grief, "the looks", the standard pat responses, the people coming out of the woodwork who were not present in daily life of the deceased- but somehow showed up first to mourn. I get that. But as the one remaining- who wants to be with all of the people who knew him and hear the stories and get the hugs... it's hard.
I've been surrounded by friends this week. I've had the chance to do just that- we've told the stories, laughed, hugged and wept... and it has been what's allowed me to survive this madness. We've remembered moments from childhood as well as recent days. And I need more... I crave it. Not in a "please interview me about my father" way, but just in the way he lived- by story telling. If you have Stan Stories- please share them with me. I need to hear them now... but, remembering this same road from 17 months ago with Mary's death... I'll need to hear them in the days and weeks to come. The stories are what are getting me through. They are what are helping me make this all "well with my soul."
I typically like to end my posts with some final thought or wrap-up sentence. But I don't have one today. I can't find words to tie all this up before I hit "publish". And that's kind of what my days feel like- I can't wrap them up and piece them all together. My heart is broken because the person who loved me best and taught me how to love is gone. He was larger than life... and now, somehow, my life feels smaller knowing he's not around. I can't stay in this ache forever- and I am thankful that I won't.
I hated this week. But I loved my Daddy. And thank God I knew daily that he loved me.
9 comments:
I am so sorry for your loss and cannot offer any comfort except that God knows and understands your pain and the feeling of the void in your heart. I pray that you will feel His loving arms wrapped around you and His peace when you miss your Daddy. Blessings and you and your family will be in my prayers. Angela
I was so very sorry to read this and I am deeply sorry about the loss of your Dad. My deepest sympathy to you and your family.
It makes no sense. I agree. Becky I didn't know the exact circumstances and I am sure now that the shock of it all must have been incredibly painful to deal with. Here are my two cents' worth. As Christians we just give these "senseless" things up to God and in time it starts to change things. You remember your parent in a special way, it could be the way your child smiles, or a funny joke they used to tell, a song they loved, or a recipe they used to make. I often see lots of these things in a single day and I'm reminded that my mom is close to me. The incredible hurt gets better and that person lives on with us all the great things that made them unique. I'm praying for you and your brother. Tanja
My heart, soul, body and mind weep for you and Chris, Becky. I can't imagine the horror - and yet, I know it belongs to all of us who know you and love you. Please know that in all of this, you are HELD - By our loving Father, and by those who love you this side of heaven. God be with you and give you His peace that passes understanding.
Becky, i am so sorry for your loss. Stan was an awesome man, a great inspiration. May the stories and wonderful memories put your heart at peace.
Becky, i am so sorry for your loss. Stan was an awesome man, a great inspiration. May the stories and wonderful memories put your heart at peace.
It sucks and it makes no sense and I'm praying for you, Becky. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Oh Becky...crying hard for you over here. Thank you for letting us into your life, even when its hard. You're teaching us "private" types that its better your way...love you!
Hey Becky, my sweet friend. I know where you are. Boy, do I. I lost Mamma and Daddy 8 months apart 6 years ago. I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND. But, I do know that God is sovereign over all. There is the peace. It does get easier. Although, there are moments that it feels like it was just yesterday. Hope to talk soon. I would love to know your daddy. From one daddy's girl to another, I love you.
Post a Comment