There was once a man named Jan, and he was my dad. The thing is that not everyone lives forever, and even though I would have liked to keep having a dad, he passed away unexpectedly nine years ago today.
Strangely, this is not the day that bothers me the most. Not his birthday or Father's Day even. It's random events and moments that stir up the sense of loss. Driving at night. Something my kids do. Hearing someone laugh.
I got this book for my dad years before he died... it asked a different question about his life every day of the year. He filled it out faithfully, and I've been so glad to have it. Today is a perfect day to share some of his answers. I like that it's all handwritten, because his handwriting is so HIM. And as I was going through his bag of stuff, I also came across the only tie he ever wore for my entire life 🤣. And this picture is a perfect representation of his timeless face (he was in his mid thirties when I was born, and he looks like a teenager!).
I miss my dad, but his death doesn't tear me up the way it might because I know that we will be reunited one day in heaven. This isn't a cliche comfort, either. I know it because my dad acknowledged that he wasn't the god in his life. That there is one God who brings us into being and Who brings us into the next life, too.
Nowadays it's the cool thing to believe that WE are god, masters of our own existence. What good is it to think that we are so successful when we have no say over what really matters? Being born, the end, and what comes after. It's the perfect distraction, really. Have you challenged yourself lately about these unknowable things; these things you have no say over, and why that is?
The greatest gift my dad could ever give me was knowing that he was just a man. (And his spaghetti sauce is definitely a close second.)