Farewell to a Father I Barely Knew...

Yesterday, my sister texted me with the sad news that our father had died; he was 89 years old. I sat for a moment looking at the screen of my new Pixel phone, and the thought that continually crossed my mind was: "How am I supposed to react?"

I barely knew my father.

For most people who received that kind of news, "how to react?" would be the furthest question from their mind. Yet, I sat there and wrestled with the question. Simultaneously, it felt like I was standing outside of myself, intrigued that I, an ordained pastor who is trained and experienced to be present with people in these very situations, had no clue on what to do, let alone how to feel.

How does one feel when they barely know their father?

Finally, I texted my wife Christy, which in retrospect, surprised me. An immediate family member has died, and I text her with the news?* Her quick response immediately nailed the crux of my internal dilemma.  She wrote: "Wow. I'm so sorry--yet I don't want to put any expectations on you that you would need to process this in any specific way. How does one grieve the loss of someone they didn't have a connection with, but society assumes we should? I guess you will figure it out."

How do you figure it out when you barely know your father?

While it was true that my dad lived in the house for the first 17 years of my life, together with my mom and three older siblings, he wasn't really there...especially as I entered high school. Yes, I have early memories of when he paid attention and would actually engage with me. But as we all grew older, he increasingly withdrew from family life and into himself. When I think of my teenage years, memories of him disappear. He never watched me play goalie for my high school hockey team, or walk across the stage to receive my diploma. So it was a no-brainer decision to move out of the house when I graduated. That was 14,071 days ago, and I can count the number of times I saw my dad after that on two hands.

That's what happens when you barely know your father.

Over the subsequent years I became increasingly aware that, even though I no longer had contact with my father, I couldn't erase him from my life. His influence keeps bubbling up to the surface in good and bad ways. He was a gifted mechanical engineer who would end up with a dozen patents in his name. I like to think that my penchant for "outside of the box" thinking and problem solving comes from him. Likewise, I think I learned my love of home construction projects came from watching him remodel our first home. But on the other hand, experiencing his short temper and selfish attitude also left a lasting mark on me. As a result, I always vowed to never become my father. Yet, my own marriage nearly imploded seven years after it began because I had unwittingly become the person I never wanted to be.

That can occur when you barely know your father.

At the end of the day, as I processed my feelings with two of my siblings, we all arrived at the same place: a twinge of sadness and a dose of regret. But I believe we also carry a healthy amount of grace for our father. Like us, the earthquakes of his early life resulted in aftershocks that reverberated throughout his adulthood. He grew up in the Netherlands between two World Wars, spending his teenage years living in Nazi occupation, the last few of which were in hiding to avoid being pressed into the German Army. There are also hints at being sexually abused as a child. As I look back, I think his attitudes and actions were an attempt to escape his past rather than deal with it. Despite his inventive, fix-it personality, he never took on the hard work of confronting the dysfunctional issues in his character and behavior. In 2009, the last time I saw him in person during a visit to where he was living in Rockford, Illinois, he was still stuck in the same vicious cycle of self-gratification. Although I tried to spark interest in his granddaughters, he only showed interest in topics of his own choosing. As always, he continued the downward spiral into himself that nothing could derail. 

Maybe that's what happens when you don't know how to be a father.

I am now a father myself. We have been blessed with three beautiful, funny, wise and adventurous daughters, each unique and precious in their own right. When I informed them of their paternal grandfather's death, a person who they never met (let alone know), their responses to me were not only heartwarming, but revealed that my goal of being a different kind of father than my own was realized. It was found in the small things that they said and did. It reminded me of the countless little connections that we share, all that were built over a lifetime of intentional and loving relationship.

That's what happens when you learn how to be a father.

Because there will be no funeral or memorial service, let this be my farewell to the father I barely knew. Understand that I hold no bitterness. After all, without you, my siblings and I wouldn't be here. The choices you made set the trajectory of my own life, just as my choices set the path for my own children. Perhaps like you, I wish I could have some of those decisions back; but then again, maybe not. As I sit and reflect on the path I have traveled, I am reminded of a larger, more important truth: that while you were my biological father, I also have a heavenly father who DOES know how to be a father. So while both of us have failures in our pursuit of fatherhood, also know that I am a living testament that we can rise above their impact. They do not have to become the defining qualities of who we are because we have a heavenly father who, above all things, is a God of redemption. He accepts and loves me where I am found, but he doesn't leave me there. He gently beckons me closer to a relationship with him, all the while engaging in his deliberate work of redeeming my life into something good, healthy and beautiful. And I've learned...

That's what happens when you know God the father.

Keep the Faith ~ Art