My father passed away. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Until July 31, 2021 I truly did not understand sudden or unexpected. It has been disorienting, confusing, shocking. I find myself taking giant sighs - quiet groans of grief to inhale a cork for my emotions, to stop floods of sadness so that I can keep going. These last two months have been both painfilled and dull. The morning light, the evening spent, the beauty of the garden have all felt muted and distant, the cork in place, holding me together.
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| My dad never hesitated to come help me with my kids when they were little or when they were big. This was just a couple months after Zinnia and Esther were born. |
Today was different. Today was blessed. Today was my dad's military honors service at Fort Logan National Cemetery where he is now interred. He served in the Navy.
One of the things I find incredibly moving about a funeral is the procession to the cemetery. There is honor. Those on the road are required to pause and give space to a family in mourning and to respect the body of one who has passed.
Today we experienced a procession.
I couldn't sleep last night, so I woke later than usual, but the glowing colors of a lingering sunrise bathing the yellow leaves of the tree in the backyard welcomed this day. My dad would've loved this sunrise.
My family prepared to leave, the car was quiet and tense, so I asked Anthony to begin the Josh Garrels Radio on Spotify. As we drove, there was one beauty after another.
The warm, comforting fall sunshine soothed the sadness. The clouds, swaying gently, swept and dotted the brilliant blue sky. A backdrop of billowing clouds framed the mountains, revealing their majesty and magnificence. This morning held more beauty than any day in my near memory.
Audrey Assad's Be Thou My Vision filled my ears reminding me of the end of the story
As we continued to drive there was an enormous murmuration dancing through the air. Perhaps the largest murmuration I've witnessed. My dad would've be overjoyed.
The soundtrack, divinely planned for this drive, played a new song, "Endless Summer" by Lovkn.
We passed the speedway, a place my dad loved, a place full of memories. The flags greeted us with happy waving on our procession to the cemetery.
One of the things I find incredibly moving about a funeral is the procession to the cemetery. There is honor. Those on the road are required to pause and give space to a family in mourning and to respect the body of one who has passed.
Today we experienced a procession.
I couldn't sleep last night, so I woke later than usual, but the glowing colors of a lingering sunrise bathing the yellow leaves of the tree in the backyard welcomed this day. My dad would've loved this sunrise.
My family prepared to leave, the car was quiet and tense, so I asked Anthony to begin the Josh Garrels Radio on Spotify. As we drove, there was one beauty after another.
The warm, comforting fall sunshine soothed the sadness. The clouds, swaying gently, swept and dotted the brilliant blue sky. A backdrop of billowing clouds framed the mountains, revealing their majesty and magnificence. This morning held more beauty than any day in my near memory.
Audrey Assad's Be Thou My Vision filled my ears reminding me of the end of the story
High King of heaven, my victory won
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's sun
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, O ruler of all
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, O ruler of all
As we continued to drive there was an enormous murmuration dancing through the air. Perhaps the largest murmuration I've witnessed. My dad would've be overjoyed.
The soundtrack, divinely planned for this drive, played a new song, "Endless Summer" by Lovkn.
Close my eyes and breathe in deep
Oxygen fills my lungs
This pocket of bliss raging blue and green
A forest of pine dressed in the evening
Welcome, my dear
To the endless summer
Welcome, my dear
To eternity
Welcome, my dear
To the great adventure
The gift of life
Everlasting
We passed the speedway, a place my dad loved, a place full of memories. The flags greeted us with happy waving on our procession to the cemetery.
The next song was House of God Forever by Jon Foreman. This song prepared my soul every single visit to the hospital when Esther had cancer.
God is my shepherdThen two songs in a row that we played at my dad's funeral in August. Farther Along by Josh Garrels and then a version of Here Comes the Sun by JJ Heller.
I won't be wanting, I won't be wanting
He makes me rest
In fields of green, with quiet streams
Even though I walk
Through the valley, of death and dying
I will not fear
'Cause You are with me, You are with me
Your shepherd's staff comforts me
You are my feast in the presence of enemies
Surely goodness will follow me, follow me
In the house of God forever
At this time we were getting into Denver, passing the exit for IBEW #68 Union Hall where my dad made his career. A new song granted permission to grieve, so tears continued to roll down my face. Shiloh by Audrey Assad
May loving kindness
Calm the raging of the wound
May your healing
Be a clearing in the wood
May you breathe in
Deeper than you ever could before
See what you've lived through
So you can grieve it (you can let it go, you can let it go)
And draw it towards you
Catch and release it (you can let it go, you can let it go)
Shortly down the way we passed the Bronco's Stadium, the magnum opus of my dad's career as an election as he was the job steward.
I asked Anthony which exit we needed to take from I-25. It was Santa Fe - an exit I've taken hundreds and hundreds of times as it is the exit to reach my Grandma and Grandpa's house. As we drove along I pointed out the Breakfast King where I thought fancy people ate breakfast, and I told my family how my dad would drive fast down Santa Fe's bumpy road in his Chevelle with loose shocks making our tummies tickle and summersault.
I missed the exit for the cemetary and had to go further than needed. We were rerouted along the Columbine Country Club where my dad shot fireworks for most of my childhood.
I missed the exit for the cemetary and had to go further than needed. We were rerouted along the Columbine Country Club where my dad shot fireworks for most of my childhood.
Another new song, See the Love by The Brilliance, played as I looked over realizing where we were.
The grace of this random playlist, the sunrise, the mountains, the murmuration, the speedway, the union hall, the football stadium, Santa Fe, and the Columbine Country Club processed us to Fort Logan National Cemetery where the clear fall air brought peace to such a beautiful holder of humanity loved.
We stopped at the graves of my Grandpa and Grandma O'Neill.
We made our way through the paths of the cemetery to the staging area and to the location of my dad's final military honors. If you've never had an opportunity to attend the final military honors of a soldier at a national cemetery, I hope you will. They are one of the few places in our culture that truly meet the truth and gravity of loss.
This same friend gave me a gift along with this poem. With the gift came some poppy seeds. After reading the poem, the seed packet fell out of my prayer book, feeling like the perfect thing to include in the box holding my dad's urn. So now, next to the ashes of my father, will lie seeds that hold life, beauty, gentleness, vibrancy, and delight.
I wanna see
I wanna see the love
All around you
All around you
I wanna know
I wanna know that love
Is all around you
It's all around
The grace of this random playlist, the sunrise, the mountains, the murmuration, the speedway, the union hall, the football stadium, Santa Fe, and the Columbine Country Club processed us to Fort Logan National Cemetery where the clear fall air brought peace to such a beautiful holder of humanity loved.
We stopped at the graves of my Grandpa and Grandma O'Neill.
We made our way through the paths of the cemetery to the staging area and to the location of my dad's final military honors. If you've never had an opportunity to attend the final military honors of a soldier at a national cemetery, I hope you will. They are one of the few places in our culture that truly meet the truth and gravity of loss.
Following the military service, we had a few minutes to share anything we wish. I've been thinking about what I'd say and have come up so short, but I thought of a poem a dear friend gave me in the weeks following dad's death. This poem was tucked into a prayer book, so on the way out the door I just grabbed them both and read the poem.
Poppies
Mary Oliver
The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation
of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t
sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage
shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,
black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.
But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,
when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,
touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—
and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?
This same friend gave me a gift along with this poem. With the gift came some poppy seeds. After reading the poem, the seed packet fell out of my prayer book, feeling like the perfect thing to include in the box holding my dad's urn. So now, next to the ashes of my father, will lie seeds that hold life, beauty, gentleness, vibrancy, and delight.
Today was what I needed. I've been needing the healing power of beauty, the comfort of being seen, and permission to let the cork out. Instead of a burst of grief, this loosened stop allowed tears mingled with beauty to pour into the glass of a stunning day. Love and sorrow as the the old hymn says and happiness done right, a kind of holiness as Mary Oliver tells.
My dad was a really good dad, and I'm still just so sad, but today was a comfort. I love you, dad.
