It's been 4 months since we lost my Dad.
We had the opportunity to get up and share at the funeral home during the visitation for my Dad.
I jotted down some notes. Here are a few things I talked about.
We joke about how he walks. One arm swinging. Leaning forward. I remember my Mom saying I could always keep up with him - even as a little kid with my short legs.
Sometimes Timm says "pump the brakes Harold" to me when my pace is high speed.
Not sure who remembers when he had to try the skateboard in Florida and wiped out. Sometimes when I'm moving faster than is safe, or I try something I probably shouldn't, Timm might say "easy Harold".
When I injured my pinky finger playing basketball and I just wanted to go home, but Timm insisted I go to the emergency room. Now I have a bent pinky, just like my Dad. And when I had torn a muscle pretty bad - that time he didn't even have to say it - I know Timm was thinking "you're just like your Dad."
He might be poking fun - but I love to hear someone say I'm just like my Dad.
I hope so
I posted a picture of him on Facebook saying I'll miss his smile and several people commented that they see his smile in mine.
I hope so.
I hope I can carry on his spirit.
Over and over as I made call this weekend, or sent texts, I would get the same response "Oh No! Not Harold. He was so happy and friendly and helpful and kind." Most people added - "and I just talked to him!"
He wasn't always a patient man. I put him over the edge more than a few times when I was a sassy, spunky, energetic kid. Sometimes I think I slowed him down with all of my questions and "yah but's". But as he aged, he grew more and more patient.
With my kids and all of the grandkids, he welcomed them into whatever he was doing. My girls loved to go out and pick sugar snap peas or cucumbers. He would let them do it themselves while he carried a basket, and they felt treasured.
I see the kids next door. How he invited them in to learn about farming and gardening.
In Florida, any time I talked to him he would be doing something for the condo or for someone else. Always asking everyone how they're doing...and then listening. And then offering help. Or inviting someone else to help him. I hear he has an apprentice recently doing some of the plants with him. Now he has someone who can step in and take some of it over.
That's pretty much what I shared at the funeral home. But, I'd add:
Our motto in our home is "Live 360". It's our mission to try our best to always have 360 vision - looking all around and asking God to give us his eyes to see people. And not just to see people, but to love and care for them.
And I'm not sure if I ever fully realized that's how Dad lived.
He didn't go out and find kids in need and create a program where the kids would come and work in his fields. No, he saw the neighbor kids and he invited them. It can be that simple.
He didn't go looking to volunteer with big brothers, but I heard several of my brother's friends say that my Dad was a father figure to them and they learned so much by being around him. They said they always felt welcome and treated like family.
He didn't need to arrange elaborate programs at his condo, he just saw every person and learned their name and their story. They all knew he was interested in them. He cared about the grounds and worked to improve the landscaping. He watered plants, replaced some that needed it, and talked with the hired crews to ensure the work was done well.
He wasn't a hospice volunteer on a team, but when his sister was dying, he talked with her every day and was there to love and serve her - and then to take care of everything when she passed.
His neighbor in Michigan shared that not only was my Dad the best neighbor, but also the best man he'd ever met.
All of the grandkids shared the he made each feel like his favorite - and was always interested in their lives. He supported them in whatever they did, even if he didn't fully understand it.
He was available to everyone who crossed his path. He lived 360.
