Reflective Monday Musing

Well, I'm back.

At least part time right now.  I am behind at work, having missed a week, and it is final individual tax deadline coming up October 15th.  But I will be doing what I can to restore the routine.

I don't want to be too maudlin, or dwell too long on this.  so if you want to skip this one, I understand.

We buried my father Friday.

He was a great man, well loved and respected by his family, friends, those who had worked with him, and the many students he had taught and guided.  I was very touched by the turnout and the outpouring of sympathy and support. At the school where he had been Principal for 22 years, Bridgeport High School, they flew the flag at half mast, and they had a moment of silence at Friday's football game.  This was very impressive to me as he had not been Principal there since the early 80s.

I spoke at the funeral, as did my sister and her two children.  The eulogies were filled with laughter and tears, and the affection and respect were clearly shown in everything, expressed verbally and non-verbally.

I read my story Six Weeks and Always, about the enduring love between my mother and father.  It was very hard emotionally, but I got through it.  i also said some other things, and I tried to speak extemporaneously, from the heart.  I'm not sure I was completely clear or polished, but I think people understand what I was trying to say and the emotional impact behind it.

I wanted to make clear that most of what I have truly learned about Christianity and what it really means to be a Christian, I learned from my father.  He led by a shining example of what it meant to have the light shining in you, and to shine that light on others. To love God, not by shouting Hosannas and holy Holies, but in quiet reflection, by how you conducted yourself and lived your life.  You love God when you commune with nature and respect his creation.  You love God when you pray to him and the only one who knows that you prayed is YOU.

 He loved others, and although he had high moral standards for himself, he was very forgiving and accepting of you when you fell short or may have made mistakes.  He was always kind and respectful to everyone.  Despite the horrible physical declines and limitations he suffered in later life, he never turned bitter and mean.  The aides who helped him at Independence Village would compete for the right to have him on their schedule, because he was so kind and friendly to them.

He believed the best way to show you are a Christian was in how you lived your life, and to spend every day trying to make this world a better place, that each act of helping others moved us closer to the Kingdom of heaven, here on Earth.  He was a brilliant man, a mathematical genius, adept at organization and management, and he could have been whatever he wanted.  He chose to devote his life to the education of young people.  His specialty was math, and teaching to those to students who were not high achievers,  who were often barely staying in school.  His techniques brought out the best in them, and he had many of them legitimately getting the best grades of their lives.

My father suffered through a lot of physical declines in the last few years of his life.  It was very hard watching this strong, hard-working man give up so much over the years.  But through it all, he never lost touch with the essence of his character, with the brilliant light of his spirit and soul, which as he lost so much else, just shone through brighter and brighter.

And when possessions are gone, and physical strength slips away, when our damaged esophagus makes it difficult to even speak, what are we left with?  The love that we have given others and the good that we have done.

My Dad may be gone, but his light and love continue to shine.  It shines in the many students he taught and guided throughout the years.  It shines in those who were able to work with him, and benefited from his kind leadership.  It shines in those neighbors he had in the places that he and my mother lived.  It shines in the churches he went to.  It shines in the family he grew up with in Southern Michigan.  It shines within my sister and me, and our spouses.  It shines in the grandchildren, and it will shine in the great-grandchildren to come, and the generations after that.

We love you, Dad. Thanks for lighting our way, then....now...forever and always.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

UPDATE:

It is now a year since my father passed.  I would like to tell you that it hurts less.  I can't.  You do find a way to go on.

He still inhabits my heart.  He still influences my soul.  He is often, with my mother, in my dreams.

Whenever I accomplish something, whenever Benjamin achieves a goal or hits a milestone, my first instinct is still to reach for the phone and share it with them.

No, I'm not the type of person that has actual conversations with the departed.  I'm either not fortunate enough or deluded enough, depending on your perspective.  But that doesn't mean that they don't guide me, that their spirit and souls still don't have influence in my life.  They do.  Every day.

Every day, I see the positive ways my parents influenced me, the good things they have instilled in me.  I see it in Benjamin, and my older boys, Greg and Doug.  I see it in Alison, who knew and loved my parents.  And I pray to see it in my future grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I have posted several stories from the cherished legacy my father has left - over half a dozen volumes of family stories and reminiscences.  I will do my best to repost those throughout the day, and I will redouble my efforts to put out new ones, at least one or two a month.

I am sentimental and sad and reflective today.  But I have work, and I have play practice, and I have family and friends and pets to cherish. I will soldier on.

It's what my father would do.

Bless you all,

T. M. Strait