Yesterday on my
way to work, I realized that July 13, 2014 marks the 18 year anniversary of my
father’s suicide. I was 18 when he died; I am 36 now. That means
that the first half of my life was with my father and the second half has been without
him.
Initially, I wanted
to write about the emotional journey of living half of my life without my
father and what it was like to experience becoming a man without him; missing
the birth of his grandchildren or not being present for the weddings of my two
younger brothers. Maybe I had some anger that needed to be released or I
needed to declare that suicide is selfish.
But as I began typing, something interesting began to happen; God opened
my eyes to the significance of days leading up to my father’s death. While
there are times I become angry about my dad’s decision, this day, anger would
be swept away by a significant moment that I had not previously considered – a moment
that occurred on Thursday, July 11, 1996.
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June 15, 2014 –
Father’s Day. I have different memories of my father than
my younger brothers. My father had
faults; what person doesn’t? The
moment I graduated high school and eloped to marry my high school sweetheart,
the relationship with my father changed. We were growing closer. We
were beginning to have the bond I had always wanted with him. We were
talking; something we did not do often enough in my teen years.
I began detailing
vehicles to make extra money in the summer of 1996. I had promised a
co-worker that I would detail the interior of her min-van before their family
vacation. Being a man of my word, I kept my promise but was concerned on
how I was going to clean her vehicle because it was raining. I usually washed and detailed vehicles a
local car wash, but due to the weather, I had to make alternate plans. I
decided to drive to my father’s house. He had a large building that was perfect
to shield me from the rain to detail the vehicle.
As I pulled in to the
garage, I saw my dad standing by the back door; he stepped out of the house
suspiciously looking at the unfamiliar van pulling up the drive. I remember the look on his face was sad; I
had seen it a number of times before. I parked
then walked over and hugged him. I
remember it was not a simple hug to greet him; it was from my heart and
probably with more love than I had shown him in years. Little did I know this would be our last
moment together.
I never realized the
significance of that day until now. I
have always been grateful of being able to see him that last time, but dwelled
on that fateful Saturday two days later when I had a prompting to visit him but
didn’t. I never thought about all that led up to that
brief moment on a rainy Thursday morning when a son tried to provide love to a
man who felt he was never loved.
I wonder if God knew
that no one could have changed my dad’s mind about what he was going to do;
maybe, just maybe, God knew that I would listen to his promptings and show love
and kindness to a man who needed an extra hug that day. Let’s face it, had it not been raining, I
would not have driven to his house. Had it not been raining, I would not have
been able to visit my father one last time before he died.
In the midst of struggles
and challenges, it is easy to overlook the fact that God is there. In my case, it took me almost 18 years to see
God’s hand in one of the darkest times of my life. I was not a Christ
follower at the time my father died, but God was still there, guiding me
through love.
