He had suffered a heart attack. We came together as a family. We had tremendous support from our extended families, ward members, and people who knew my father in the community. It was a spiritual time for us. My father was a good man who held many callings in the Church and was an exemplary priesthood holder and a devoted husband and father. The day of his funeral was one of peace. We went away from the funeral missing our father but with hope in our hearts that we would be reunited with him. It was a couple of weeks after the funeral when my suffering began.
I had returned home to Utah, USA, away from my mother and other family members, and unfortunately I started to forget the peaceful feelings I had at the funeral. I had to go to college. I had to get a job that offered health insurance and paid time off and a retirement plan. This was the definition of success.
The only definition. I was motivated and driven in my path towards what I felt was an appropriate career choice for me. Or the number of naps I took while hiding in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet. All so I could go home, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next morning. But this is what I was taught success looked like, and I wanted to do things the right way.
My father did things the right way. He worked all the hours. He took that one big vacation per year. He had the stability I was always told to strive for. The stability that was supposed to pay off in the end. Unfortunately, my father never made it to the end. He put in all the hours and work but he died just weeks after my parents purchased their condo in Florida. Just a few years short of retirement.
Short of the end he was working towards. After he died, I continued to do the right thing, mostly because I was in a trance from the shock of what happened and felt comforted by going through the motions of my daily routine.
I began to wonder how long it would take them to replace me if I dropped dead. A week? Two maybe? It hardly took that long for my father to be replaced. Today my life is very different. I put in the time to work towards my own achievements, rather than those of others. While my father was always a firm believer in the American work ethic, I believe he would be proud of me for straying from the norm and finding my own definition of success. My life has become far more of an adventure than I could have ever imagined.
I travel often and sleep in when I can.
I write about the things I want to write about. My naps are in an actual bed rather than on a toilet. You can find our Community Guidelines in full here. Want to discuss real-world problems, be involved in the most engaging discussions and hear from the journalists? Try Independent Minds free for 1 month. Independent Minds Comments can be posted by members of our membership scheme, Independent Minds.
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G rief is like wandering through a minefield, as my mother puts it: however carefully you tread, a sudden detonation can happen out of nowhere. I held his hand, his fingers still soft and warm. He joked that a beer would taste good about now. Like you said it does really make you appreciate being alive as we know too well your life can change in weeks. I hung up. We entered the room for less than two minutes, where I took dozens of pictures.
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"When your father dies" is the opening phrase of one of my favorite poems, " Shifting the Sun," and it came to mind recently after a colleague's. Being with my father when he died taught me more about life than death. A few days before his death, my mother and I received a call in the middle of the night from my father’s nurse. I realized later that I had assumed that my father would just go on dying, but never actually die.
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He is not impressed with what impresses people. Neither should we.
A lot of people talk about legacy. I have never been impressed with the desire for legacy. Books fade. Friends who know you die. As important as BiblicalTraining. If you want to consider that as legacy, then fine. There are no heroes in the graveyard, only dead bodies waiting to be reunited with their resurrection bodies if in fact they followed Jesus. Bill Mounce blogs regularly on Greek and issues of spiritual growth. My Father Died Last Week. Categories Theology Mondays with Mounce. It is expected to be reflective in the face of death, and I am no exception.
Death is final No dah, but it is. The ground is level at the casket and the cross There is some irony in where dad is buried. Death and legacy A lot of people talk about legacy. He blogs regularly on Greek and issues of spiritual growth. Learn more about Bill's Greek resources at BillMounce.