It seemed like a good idea at the time — to officiate and preach at my Dad’s funeral service 2 years ago at his Catholic parish in Bayonne, New Jersey. It felt like the thing to do to honor my father, to plan and officiate and preach his funeral service.
I hadn’t cried yet since I received the awful news that my dear Dad had died. As soon as I heard that Dad died, I immediately went into pastor and priest mode and wanted to make sure that everyone around me, my mother, my sisters and my daughters were being cared for.
Looking back (ah, the benefit of hindsight!), I wasn’t a son grieving the loss of his father.
I was a priest planning a funeral.
And with the benefit of hindsight, I can say thankfully, the grace of God carried me through.
Once more, with hindsight, the song Amazing Grace comes to mind:
‘Twas grace that brought us safe thus far
And grace will lead us home
That grace carrying me through felt suddenly real. All of a sudden. God’s grace is real. God’s grace is sufficient. God’s grace carries us through.
It didn’t make sense then. It only makes a little more sense two years later. But, I can see God’s grace working.
And crying over my Dad’s death wouldn’t come until at least a year after the funeral when a friend brought me to a Sunday night service in Atlanta where the music was not Anglican choral evensong (let me be clear, I will always love the historic music heritage of the Church, but I did not realize I needed modern words and music from the last few years to express what I was fumbling around in the dark for a year in my grief).
It has been nearly 2 years and I did not realize how much I would miss my Dad. That seems almost silly to admit to myself, much less write.
I find myself starting to call his cell number from my iphone and then realize that he will not be on the other end of that call.
I realize there will be no more voicemail messages from my Dad (he called at such odd hours, he was a notorious insomniac) waiting for me when I woke up that always started with, “Hi, Jay, how are ya?” (Only my father is allowed to call me Jay, by the way!)
This grief has been harder than I thought it would be to get through. There have been glimmers of hope. I see it in my daughters who I know Dad would be so proud to see the women they are becoming each and everyday. I continue to receive nourishment from the Word of God and counsel and encouragement and fellowship from my Archbishop and Bishop, Darel Chase, and assisted by a godly priest and Archdeacon Gideon Uzomechina.
And just as I was surrounded at the funeral 2 years ago by the love of my younger sisters and my daughters, I am still just as loved by my family.
My commitment, as a father, is to support my daughters in their dreams, as my Dad did for me.
Although my Dad was a man of few words, he was incredibly supportive of me as his son. I decided long ago that I would parent differently. I wanted my daughters to have no doubt about my love for them. I make it a point to express my love verbally, show it through my actions, and, when necessary, ask for their forgiveness when I make mistakes.
This may not fit the “typical” Asian Dad relationship, but it’s the vision I have for my relationship with my daughters.
Practically speaking, I constantly remind my daughters of my love for them. Whenever I can (and they are willing to abide hearing it!), I tell them:
“There’s nothing you can do to make me love you more, and there’s nothing you can do to make me love you any less.”
This focus on intentional parenting became even clearer when my Dad passed away two years ago. His death reminded me of the importance of being intentional in my parenting so that when my time comes to enter my eternal reward, my daughters will have no doubts about my love for them. I want them to be secure in their identity as my beloved children.
And my hope and prayer is that in my exuberant faith, or in this intense journey of grief these last 2 years, in spite of my fumbles, even in my fears, that I am pointing my daughters and everyone that I have the privilege to serve to Jesus Christ.
Even two years later, the loss remains. Dad’s absence is no longer a sharp pain, but a quieter ache, a reminder of what he meant to me.
Today, I draw comfort and strength from the same passage from Isaiah that I preached at his funeral:
6 On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
Isaiah 25:6-9 (ESV)
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine,
of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined.
7 And he will swallow up on this mountain
the covering that is cast over all peoples,
the veil that is spread over all nations.
8 He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth,
for the Lord has spoken.
9 It will be said on that day,
“Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us.
This is the Lord; we have waited for him;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”
jacklumanog.com 