Tempus Fugit!

Time surely does fly. Today marks one year since my father passed away. Today was a busy day for me, and not much different from normal. That was ok. Normal is good. There was something else I was going to say, but now I'm not sure what that was.

Ah well. Tomorrow is the feast of the Immaculate Conception. When my father died one of the brothers remarked that God wanted him home in time for the vespers of the Immaculate Conception. Since my father had no singing voice at all (and made no secret of it) I always thought that was particularly funny.

So be perfect . . .

This poem was written by me for my father and he died just after my Mom read it to him. It was written years ago and I had been waiting for the right time to give it to him. My husband read it at my father's funeral. I think it was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He was so brave and I was so proud of him.

So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect. Matthew 5:48

You may not have been perfect,
But to me you were the perfect Father.

You may not have been there at the very moment of my arrival,
But through your life you showed me what a wonderful world this is.

You got angry, but you taught me how to apologize,
And how to forgive.

You did not hand me everything I wanted,
But you provided everything I needed.

You held my hand tightly,
And taught me security.

You released my heart,
And taught me joy.

You gave to others,
And I learned compassion.

You sacrificed,
And I learned the value of the gift of one’s self.

You risked your life for freedom,
And I learned that there are things worth dying for.

You showed me patience,
And I learned the value of a job well done.

You taught me to be independent,
And I learned what true freedom was.

You declared that God was in control,
And taught me the value of surrender.

You loved my Mother,
And taught me the beauty of commitment and dedication.

You gave me love,
And taught me hope.

You showed me integrity,
And I learned to speak up for what I believed was right.

You showed me wisdom,
And I gained faith.

You prayed,
And I learned to seek Truth.

You showed me that it is ok to grieve those we loved,
And to laugh in the process.

You hugged me tightly,
And I learned to hug back.

You cried,
And I learned that it was ok to let go.

You were yourself,
And I looked for a husband just like you.

You walked me down the aisle,
And I learned that you’ll always be there at my side.

You prayed to be perfect as your Father in heaven,
And brought me a taste of that heaven here on earth.

You were my perfect Father,
And I love you.

(C) 2003 by author. All rights reserved.

My father had been catatonic for days, but as my mother read the last line of my poem my father sort of sat up a little and made a noise, she thought he heard us. Many months later I realized that what had in fact happened was that he had taken his last breath. Perhaps he did hear us. I don't know. But I do know he loved us. In the end that is all that matters.

Having been out to sea for my confirmation he had promised to be at my Oblature. I know he won't miss it.

525,600 minutes, how do you measure, measure a year?

Yes, measure in love, as the lyrics from "Rent" tell us. But to understand that almost a year, 525,600 minutes, has gone by since my father died is impossible. To be sure the year has been filled with love, but with less love than there would otherwise have been. The questions that remain I dare not ask. The answers I dare not hear.

I was going to send flowers to my Mom for the day, and then I thought not, as if flowers could fill the emptiness. Then I thought I should. As if not sending them would make her forget.

My mother is slowly dispersing my father's clothes, suits, ties, his tuxedo that he was so proud to buy and wore only once on my wedding day. She's asked my permissiong to be sure, but I can't help that I'll go home and he'll be gone, no trace of him anywhere. Ha. As if he's not gone already.

One of my dearest friends asked me two weeks after he died, "What do you want for Christmas?" I wanted to slap her. What did she think I wanted?! She wouldn't stop asking. I never gave her an answer.

Sigh. And here I thought a year would never pass, we would never reach that day again, and yet it approaches, relentlesly. Heeding neither grief nor joy, time marches on, right over the top of my father's grave.

The Joys That Sting
by C.S. Lewis

To take the old walks alone, or not at all,
To order one pint where I ordered two,
To think of, and then not to make, the small
Time­honoured joke (senseless all but to you).

To laugh (oh, one'll laugh), to talk upon
Themes that we talked upon when you were there,
To make some poor pretence of going on,
Be kind to one's old friends, and seem to care,
While no one (O God) through the years will say
The simplest, common word in just your way.

This is, I think, my favorite photo of my father, taken about two years ago...



I didn't know it existed. My husband and I were sorting through old photos and there he was, just sitting on the couch, watching my friends and I chatting in the living room.

The night before I left for college I couldn't sleep and I got up and he was sitting there on that couch watching some old western on tv. He couldn't sleep either.