I Still Miss Him

There is an old expression that I am sure you have heard before.

"Time heals all wounds".....especially when it come to the death of someone you loved.
Well, I'm here to tell you that time doesn't heal all wounds....it only makes life bearable to the one who is grieving.

God is the only one who can heal the pain of separation because of death.

Last week was the anniversary of the day my dad died.

It's been 32 years and it seems like only yesterday.

I still find myself when certain things happen, thinking "I need to call dad and tell him about this."

32 years is a long time. A lot has happened to me and my family. We have changed.

My oldest son was 11 years old when dad died.

My youngest was 8.

They remember dad but not with great clarity.

My oldest is now 43 and youngest 40. Both married with families and jobs and future concerns, balancing life and chasing God.

My oldest son has a tendency to stand exactly like my dad did,and he isn't even aware that he does this. I guess there is something in the "Posture" genes that has been passed to him.

My dad didn't come to be saved until shortly before his death.

When ever I look closely at either of my sons, I see semblances of my dad in them

For that I am grateful.

Cancer robbed his brain and the ability to think straight.Near the end, my dad was no longer himself.

I remember getting the call at work on Tuesday that I had better come to the nursing home where dad was.

Time was short and the doctor didn't expect him to make it through the night.

It's a hard thing for a son to walk in and see what's left of his father.

By that, I mean a man who was tall and strong and had a voice

that was loud and husky. Now here lay a mere shadow of

the man he use to be.

Wires and tubes and equipment all around him.
The look in his eyes was of bewilderment as if to say

"Where am I? What's happened to me?"

Dad drifted in and out of sleep that afternoon and around 5 p.m. seemed

to make a swift turn around.

He woke up hungry ready to eat supper.

I stayed with him as the rest of the family left.

As he ate supper we talked. I don't remember much about the conversation other

than he seemed in really good spirits.

He pushed his tray away and announced that he was finished with supper

and that he wanted to sleep some more.

I sat next to him praying over him asking for God's mercy to be extended to Huley Benton Bynum.

Around 9 p.m. dad woke up.

Looking around the room, he turned to me and asked, "who are all these people?"

"What people?" I replied as there was no one in the room except for dad and me.

"They are everywhere! Look how bright their clothes are!"

I believe that at the point, the veil between this reality and the reality of heaven

was parted and my dad saw what lay beyond.

He continued for a few more minutes talking about all the people and what

they looked like.
Conversation seemed to be going on but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

Eventually he lay his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes drifting into sleep.

I stood over his bed and looked into the face of a man I had seen a gajillion times.
That night it was like I was seeing him for the first time.

He looked so peaceful.

He had lived a hard life.

Times were hard as he grew up.

He worked hard all his life and his hands were hard and calloused. Such was the measurement of  the years of hard labor he had spent.

His wife, my mother, had departed this world four years earlier and somehow

I don't think he ever recovered from her death.

My mom and he had enjoyed the last few years of her life, going places and

meeting friends for meals and good times.

Without her, he seemed to be incomplete.

Now it was his turn.

Around 4 a.m. the nurse came by and said, "Don't you live nearby?" I replied, "yes."

She said, "why don't you run home and shower, change clothes and come back."
I didn't really want to but I was tired.

She said that she would sit with dad while I was gone.

I left.

As I walked in the front door of my home, the phone rang.

It was the nurse.

Dad had died shortly after I left.

She was very apologetic.

I assured her it was o.k., but deep inside I wished I had been there

with him.

Even to this day, the thought of my dad alone when he died is painful.

As I sit here typing this post out, I remember all the good things about him.

How he loved his family. Such was hard for him to convey with words as with many who grew up during the time my dad did. I don't remember my dad verbally telling me that he loved me, but I knew he did. In fact if I'd asked him, "Dad, do you love me?" his answer would go something like this. "You've got a roof over your head don't you? You've food on the table don't you?" You've got clothes on your back don't you?" Which, in his way, was how he would let you know that you were loved.

His laugh. My dad did love a good joke or story.

His love for dogs. He was a fox hunter and we had more than our fine share of dogs who were bred for such an adventure. Many a night would find him sitting around a fire with his fellow hunters, listening for the dogs. It use to amaze me that he could distinguish each dog's yelp and bark.

I remember at the end...how he came to Jesus, old in years but innocent like a child.

I look forward to the day when family will be reunited.

After all....

Family is all we have.

Merry Christmas from the "B's" in Attalla.

God on you...

mbb