Ten years ago today, the world stopped. Just back the night before from leading a youth trip, I was visiting with a friend when I got a voicemail from my mom vaguely telling me, "There's been an accident. Dad's hurt. There's an ambulance here. Please come home." My stomach dropped so low I think it was in my feet. My mind raced and my heart thumped. My friend graciously offered to drive me home so I wasn't driving into the unknown alone.
The 30 minute drive was a lifetime of questions and fear. What happened? Was it serious? How serious? As we be pulled close to the house and my mom ran out the door with my sister close behind, I knew. Before the words were even said I was crumpled on the grass knowing it was the worst kind of serious I could imagine -- my dad was gone. The three of us huddled in the front yard sobbing, then moved inside where the details began to emerge.
Despite the passing of ten years and the foggy cloudiness of grief, these details come back to me as though they just happened. Even now, my body is shaking and the tears are running down my face as a write. I remember that day so vividly, with so much detail. Of course, because the world had stopped.
I have spent much of the last week remembering my dad and the course of events of that week. Between Father's Day, when I last saw my dad and his death the following Sunday, one day shy of his 50th birthday, there are a lot of moments to mark; I've looked at pictures, read the cards and notes from people and reflected on my loss in the past and for today as well as the hidden blessings.
One year out of college, I was just 23 when my dad died. I never really got to have an adult relationship with him. We enjoyed conversations and activities together, but were just beginning to enjoy that as two adults. I had just transitioned from two part-time jobs to a full-time job doing something I loved and felt called to do, and he only got to see me do it for a few months. My dad wasn't there to help me buy my first house, walk me down the aisle on my wedding day or watch me graduate from seminary. My dad was profoundly missed on the day of my ordination. He wasn't around to help when we replaced our fence, our roof, or when we bought our first car. I have longed for his sparkling smile on each of these occasions. My dad didn't get to see the woman my sister has become: she loves her husband well (she's an example to me), she has an amazing gift interacting with children, she works hard and is dependable. But she was most of those things even as a teenager, so I guess Dad knows. I've wished for his advice and insight countless times. I miss him on mundane days when it just hits me again how much I wish he was here.
Most of all though, I wish my boys would have had the opportunity to know their Grandpa Dan. I wish so much that I could see him playing catch with them, or giving them rides on the real tractor we'd probably still have (not just the riding law mower). I would love to be able to hear him read them stories or tell them silly jokes. He would be one of their biggest cheerleaders. He would be their chief spoiler (though I'm sure it would drive me crazy). He'd teach them how to be a cowboy and drive home the importance of professional speech (when the time came). He would love them by serving them, just like he did me and my mom and sister. Only we didn't always understand that love language until he was gone.
But that is one of the hidden blessings -- we can look at all he did to take care of us and know that he was telling us just how much he loved us. And while I would give almost anything to have my dad back in my daily life, there are many hidden blessing we gained from our loss; God is good and faithful in that. My family and I experienced the Body of Christ ministering to and comforting us from the day my dad died. I couldn't believe the response from our church family as they arrived at our house in droves that afternoon just to be with us in our grief.
This week as I re-read all the cards that people sent to me in the days and weeks following my dad's death I was struck at how simply and honestly and willingly people shared what my dad meant to them. Friends of mine who barely knew him. People who didn't know us but had worked with my dad. It truly was a blessing to know the kind of impact my dad's life had -- and we would have likely never heard these things another way.
While most of that first summer after my dad died is a blur, I learned a lot about myself and my faith in God was deepened considerably. I learned what great friends do for someone in crisis as I experienced the blessing of their friendships personally. I learned what things are most comforting and helpful to someone in times of loss and seek to demonstrate those actions when someone I know is grieving -- as we are encouraged to do in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4. I learned a lot about my dad as a boy and young man as I heard his family and friends share stories together.
Ten years ago, my world stopped. But just as it does, the world began to move again. And even though I wish things were different, I learned that God truly does work for good in all things.
