There have probably been a handful of times the 6th day of March has fallen on a Sunday in the last 23 years, but today, I happened to notice. I just told a church member, who lost a parent recently, the ebb and flow of grief lasts for a lifetime, but the first 3 years are the worst. You alternate between gut wrenching sob sessions and hysterical laughter as you remember the personality quirks and antics of your mom or dad. Somehow or another, you just get used to their absence although you never stop missing them. This was wisdom shared with me by a neighbor in the spring of 1988 and wisdom I pass on with all sincerity. Today, however, I feel a twist in my heart. How do you describe an event deeply embedded in years past forever affecting your notion of life and God?
I was 26 years old. Ken and I had moved from Forest Grove, Oregon, where we met at Pacific University, to the other side of the country. I didn't question Ken's wanderlust in my youthfulness and followed him to his eventual destination after a few "layovers" to Andover Newton Theological School. Shortly after our arrival, we discovered I was expecting our first child, Micaela. After her delivery, my mom and dad came to visit once when she was 6 months old and I went to visit them when she was 10 months old. This was the last time my dad, Raymond White, was to see her and he would never meet my son, much less witness the beautiful people into which they would develop.
In February, 1988, I was planning another trip out west to see my folks and a special hike in late March with my Dad. My dad loved the outdoors and was an avid camper and hiker. He loved photography and took pictures of wildflowers, memorizing their scientific names. He had been an ordained minister, but nature was his church. Our hike together never happened. On Sunday, March 6th, he went hiking with the Sierra club in the Columbia Gorge. A mile or so into the hike, he had a massive coronary, which killed him almost instantly. I received a phone call from my brother at 11:00 pm that night informing me of the news. I was so young and so unprepared to handle his death.
Like most girls, I was Daddy's little princess. He was far from perfect and, in my adult wisdom, I came to believe my dad's heart issues had a lot to do with attitude as well as diet. He constantly created his own stress, driving adrenaline through his system. Nevertheless, he was the glue to our family unit. It never seemed after his loss, my mother, brother and myself had the same connection. No matter how good or not good at being a father he was, he always communicated our importance-family's importance. He wanted us to have a better experience and relationship with him than he had with his folks. He took reels and reels of slides with my mother, brother and myself front and center. The continuity in pictures even went by the wayside.
I missed my dad the most when raising my children. As my mother was not oriented toward children, I craved his validation of them and myself as a parent. I have a picture of him holding Micaela at 9 months old and it brings me comfort. I wish I had a picture of him with Jesse Raymond, his namesake. There was a huge hole. This was a mark, a scar on my soul always. It was both a huge loss and a point of enormous grace. I felt God's salve applied there often, usually after I took the time to feel all the feelings. It was like being orphaned. Who was I to rely on except the Spirit?
Do I wish this never happened to me? Of course. Nevertheless, it did and, when my children were older and I had time and was more open, I believe my father let me know he was "alive and well" on the other side and oh so active in my life. The day I realized this, big crocodile tears ran down my face. As Jesus said, "Bless those that grieve, for they shall be comforted".
Today was a mark in my personal spiritual history. The picture of my dad's shoes left behind at a Sierra Club member's house prior to the hike haunts me. They are shoes that cannot be filled by anyone but God. The picture of myself on my last hike a year prior with my dad haunts me. We were ignorant of what was to come and totally took for granted each other's company. Life is a never ceasing wonder and we never know when we will take our last breath. Love each other like it is your last breath everyday!
Pentracing
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