Today would have been my father’s 57th birthday.
It would have, except that he died suddenly and unexpectedly of a massive heart
attack almost two years ago, July 3.
I remember much about the days after his death. My father’s
death, like his life, left in its wake a mess for others to clean up. Only this
time, Dad isn’t here to help, or to push along with his, “It’s better to ask
forgiveness than permission” motto. He is also not here to come in with his
calm, jovial personality (when at his best) to diffuse or completely mask the
pain.
Chris and I are fans of the show “The Good Wife.” We started
watching it because we’d previously been fans of the show “Numbers,” and when
we heard the same brothers (Ridley Scott and Tony Scott) who had made that show
had a new show, we had to check it out. And we got hooked.
Little did we know that one of the brothers, Tony Scott,
would become himself a news story, like his characters. In August of 2012, he
committed suicide. I remember at the time—before I ever imagined our family
would have its own story of suicide—thinking it highly unlikely that he hadn’t,
as stories seemed to say, really indicated why he had done it. I was sure the
family knew and was keeping it. And maybe they are. We are not entitled to the
fine details of their pain. But I know now that many, even most, people who
commit suicide do not leave a note. And even when they do, it’s rarely the
entire story. News stories about Tony Scott’s death indicate that he left a
note, but it did not reveal why he took his life.
What I remember most about that tragic loss, though, is
something Tony’s brother Ridley said later, when defending the show’s sudden,
and not-neat death of one of its key characters, Will Gardner. I can’t find the
quote now (so indeed, maybe it is apocryphal and conflated with words of others
on the show) but it was something to the extent of how he wanted the death to
seem real. And often, death does not bring the neat and tidy endings portrayed
in film and TV. Sometimes, as the show has teased out with Will’s death, there
is mess, and uncertainty. Sometimes you try to think back over the final days
of a person’s life to fill in the holes your relationship with them left. And
usually, try as you might, you cannot tidy things up.
Indeed, sometimes the untidiness of death also leads us to
focus more on a person’s death than their life. I suspect this is true and
becomes less so as time passes, once you resign yourself to the untidiness of
it all.
My father lived 55 years and a couple months. He experienced
many things in those years. He had great successes and deep failures. He helped
many people and hurt some.
Today, yes, his birthday still brings thoughts of his death.
Not his death itself, but all the things I would’ve liked resolved. Tidied up.
I would very much like the script rewritten. But we do not have those chances
in life. Nor do we know how “rewrites” would impact the final draft. Maybe next
year will, as this year is from the last, be even easier. Perhaps we shall get
even more of the mess left to us cleaned up. Perhaps I will be able to even
more fully see Dad with the eyes I proclaim to others, that we are never known
to God by our worst moments.
I remain convinced that Dad knew the love of God. That he
was deeply grateful to have been called to share God’s love with others. That
he sought to live out, day by day, the Prayer of Thomas Merton. A prayer which
had such meaning and importance for him. In all of life’s rewrites, it is
indeed well that all of us hold on to it as well:
"My
Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I
cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the
fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact
please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I
will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you
will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore
will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of
death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone. Amen."
This is resonating deeply with me today as I prepare to head to Pennsylvania for my Uncle's funeral - a death not unexpected but certainly "untidy." That theme was reinforced when Facebook reminded me first thing this morning that 'Rick Andrews and three other friends have birthdays today.' This untidiness is a struggle, but the mess is here to stay I'm afraid.
ReplyDeleteThanks for posting. I miss your dad.
I'm missing my Dad too, died of an apparent heart attack in August 1986, was 57. Mom just passed away in April 2014, was 12 days shy of her 83rd birthday. Passed away a couple hours later after I had Hospital remove her from life support. Now an Angel in Heaven. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDeleteI'm missing my Dad too, died of an apparent heart attack in August 1986, was 57. Mom just passed away in April 2014, was 12 days shy of her 83rd birthday. Passed away a couple hours later after I had Hospital remove her from life support. Now an Angel in Heaven. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDelete