My father with my grandson (his great-grandson)
My father passed away peacefully this past Sunday evening. He'd only been in the hospital a for a few days when it became evident that he would not ever leave the same way he came in. Before his visit to the hospital, my dad had been living on his own, driving his car around the town of Payson to get out of the house for awhile, or riding his Jazzi two blocks down the street to the Senior citizen center for lunch and some socialization. Up until a half year ago, he still held his church calling as the ward finace clerk. He'd had that job for over 40 years and took pride that his mind was still sharp and he could do a good job for the Lord. He'll never know what an impression this left on me. I've known many other members of my faith, who at much younger ages than 85, have taken the attitude, "I've served in the church long enough. I'm old and I deserve a break." I don't believe our obligation to God works that way. My dad obviously didn't either. What a great example he was.
He was also a great dad. I loved him dearly, and I'll miss him.
As I say good bye to Dad,
my exemplar, strength, and friend,
I know death is but a gateway,
in no way it's the end.
Though tears shed with the memories
of camping trips and skis,
biking down the canyon,
and others just like these,
I'm at peace with my dad's passing,
he's in a joyous place,
with my brother, mom and God,
and they're saving me a space.