Well, this entry is a bit personal. But as with all my writings, I offer it in hopes that it might find anyone who knows they can relate and perhaps provoke a person who needs to relate.

My father passed away January 23, at 4:50pm. The chaplain asked my Aunt and me to share with him some memories of my Dad and then I wound up actually reading at the funeral.

Only 34 years into my life seems quite young to loose a father. We do not predict nor plan for these events; especially not in the carefree, self-absorbed times of youth. Like when I was shark fishing off the pier with my father or hunting shells while at the beach with him.

I feel mortal now. At the same time, I feel free.
The past year brought me closer to my father and for this I give thanks and feel the most peace I could possibly feel, about our relationship.

This past year, traveling cross country on my scooter, I stopped in Jackson to visit him. I met his friends and spent the day with them. I volunteered to serve food at the shelter where he lived. I was asked to lead grace before the meal. I try not to speak in terms of God, but I believe in blessings and community. I looked up from what felt like an awkward grace and saw my Dads face glowing. Perhaps he was not there at many moments in my life, but he was there at some important ones.

It was a gift to care briefly for my father in his illness. It was a relief to know he was at home with my Aunt. His beautiful heart held so much respect for others. He did not seem to have this for himself, sadly, but he genuinely offered it to others.

He always took a moment to express gratitude for his caretakers; myself, my Aunt, doctors and nurses. His eyes expressed love for me. He received my calls with rather surprising joy for a man suffering so much. This lightened my heart.
The last embrace we shared, bending over his hospital bed, he hugged my neck as tightly as possible and said, “You don’t know how much you mean to me.”

But I did. I do. Finally.

One day, caring for him, I noticed a scar on his lower abdomen. That scar resulted in my life. He had a surgical procedure in order to bring into this realm. My mother had told me about this when I was younger and the knowledge made me uncomfortable. I went through a slight nihilist phase, wondering if I should be here–in a sense–without technology–I would not be. As I stared at his scar, recognizing the fragility of his life and the many struggles he failed to overcome–I gave silent thanks.

He gave me a precious chance, a gift. I realized the effort that went into my creation and understood the gravity that I make the best effort I can in this world. It was liberating.

This past summer, after visiting my father, I attended several teaching that the Dalai Lama offered. He spoke of the significance of life, not just measured by the totality of a man’s actions, but measured by his intentions.

My father had an awareness that he must improve his life, that he must stop drinking. It is an irony that over the counter medicine ruined his liver and ultimately killed him. He was taking so much of it to deal with the pain that drinking usually solved.

He had a kindness, a moral character and often helped strangers. He had a deep well of love for his family. He had many shortcomings, many failures. Had I known prior what kind of father he would be, or if I even had a choice in the matter, I might not have chosen him.

But this is Life, right?
I believe, too, that life is a measure of your intentions, your ability to dream, synthesize and intuit. I also believe discipline is an important vehicle.
But without it, the weight of a mans heart is no less, perhaps just his legacy.

I am thankful that my Fathers pain has been taken. I know he is finally at Peace. As am I, with my life, even my mortality, and my opportunity to learn from all that he taught me.
He is released