The Legacy

July 2, 2022

I am with my dad as I write this. Waiting. Watching. Making sure he knows I am here. I have just relieved my very tired mother from this vigil. She and my sisters have been taking shifts. We don’t want him to die alone. I wonder, how much life is enough? Every day when I wake, I thank God that I am still alive and pray for more days. I pray that God will allow me to die of old age, not cancer. But do I? I don’t know. Very few people get to stay active and alert and then die peacefully in their sleep.

On this unexpected journey from my home on the west coast to Texas, I was simply overwhelmed with the thought that the purpose of my trip was to say good-bye to a life, a full life. The last couple of years have been painful for my dad. He always took such good care of his physical health. But in the end, it was his mind that deteriorated. He was cognizant enough to know he wasn’t in his right mind. He would have moments of complete clarity and then he would try to step into his shirt sleeve as if putting his shirt on like a pair of pants. Every time I visited over the last two years, I noticed a decline. I made sure each goodbye was a good one, because I wasn’t certain it wouldn’t be the last.

June 15, 2024

And now, almost two years since we laid him to rest, a memory of Daddy will flash across my mind prompted by something someone said, a smell, a song. And I miss the comfort of just knowing that my daddy was on this earth. Although we lived miles apart and didn’t talk much or see each other often, it was a comfort to me just to know he was there.

I guess in a way, he is still here. He left a legacy, three actually, in his daughters. Three daughters who learned so much from him, mostly by observing the way he lived. We learned from him that when you lead people you lead by serving. You take care of your people. We learned about quiet generosity. On the surface, my dad was a man of few words, a tight wad, maybe a little gruff. But at his funeral, all three of us girls spoke of different situations where he showed his inner-most self, times when he gave so very generously to meet a need, how he provided for others.  Not for recognition. In fact, he took great pains to be discreet. We also learned how to handle a crisis, how to stay level-headed when all around is chaos.

Yes, we absorbed so much from him and we all strive to echo these qualities. We have all done well in life, largely because of what we learned from Daddy. We have owned our own businesses and have held executive level positions, leading the way we learned, living out a legacy.

But there is one thing in particular that was very important to my dad. And this one, he taught very intentionally through talking and discipline, sometimes to our chagrin. He taught us that we should fight for peace with our siblings. We weren’t ever allowed to say “I hate you” or even call each other “stupid” for that matter. We understood what being “hateful” meant at an early age, and it was not the way of our family. We were forced to say “I’m sorry” even if we weren’t at the time. Yes, lead with the head and the heart will follow. There was a complete ban on “the silent treatment.” We weren’t allowed to avoid and remove ourselves from each other. We had to stay in it. This legacy, the one where we fight for relationships with our loved ones is perhaps the one I most cherish.

Ironically, in the days between Daddy’s transition to heaven and his funeral, we had the opportunity to test this legacy…would it survive? Sometimes the worst of us comes out when we are hurting and tired. We sisters had differing opinions about the funeral: the when, the what. My husband and I were scheduled to fly to London that same week, and mom was urging us to go. I was torn. I wanted to be at the funeral, but life is for the living, and having been at the threshold of death, I choose to live every day as if time is running out. I truly tried to delay our trip, to change our departure from Seattle to Dallas to save a day. You name it, I tried it. Every option to make it all work. I was willing to throw ridiculous sums of money at it. But it was July, and last-minute travel arrangements, especially international, are hard to come by. I softly suggested to mom that we hold the service on our return. We were going to be away just a little over a week. Mom declined. She was tired. Caregiving for an Alzheimer’s patient is exhausting, she needed to start grieving and resting.

 It became apparent that we could have the funeral in time for us to make our trip, but concessions had to be made. And that is when, I am sorry to say, things got a little rough between me and one of my sisters. We said things we didn’t mean, we lashed out at each other, we bossed each other. We dredged things up that should have stayed in the past. All of this right in front of our dear mother. At last, weary, Mom weighed in and said she would rather have me at the funeral and make some concessions so that I could also make my trip. Did I feel like I had won? Absolutely not. In that moment, I really wanted mom to give me her blessing to choose London. I was grateful to have made it back home in time to say goodbye to Daddy and knew my mom would understand if we took our trip. It would have been easier than experiencing the hurt my sister felt for not having the funeral the day she preferred (also for good reasons).

As it turned out, the funeral was a wonderful celebration, everything reflecting the life of a West Texas cattleman, devoted husband, wonderful father, and friend. It honored my daddy in every little detail. My grown boys were present. I think they were in awe and wonder at the small town community turnout to honor their PawPaw. Hours later, my husband and I boarded a red-eye back to Seattle, with only enough time to pick up our vacation luggage at home and head back to the airport.

We had a lovely trip, one I will never forget. When we returned, my sister (the one I went to blows with) and I talked. We just simply said “I am sorry.” No” buts.” No “you just…” Not even “I felt…” Just “I am sorry” followed only by our affirmation that nothing giving rise to our conflict was more important than our relationship with each other. We simply sat in each other’s company, knowing that Daddy indeed left a legacy…of love and peace and sisters.

Looking back now, I see how neither my sister nor I was wrong. Sometimes life presents impossible choices. And people get hurt. I know there are times when one person refuses to let go, to accept an apology let alone extend one. I am so grateful we chose a different story rather than the one leaving a rift in our relationship for years to come, not only hurting each other but making family gatherings awkward for others at best, and out of the question at worst. No, we chose each other. The legacy lives on. Thank you, Daddy.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there and to the dads who are father-figures. What will your legacy be?

Until next time, I am living Between the Scans.