It has been two years, almost to the minute, since my Dad's passing. It was May 24th here in the Mountain Time Zone, but May 25th where he lived in the Eastern Time Zone.
In some respects it seems like he's been gone such a long time. Yet, my last phone conversation with him seems like it was just last week. That was the last time he ever talked on the telephone. He was being prepared for emergency surgery, and he had to hang up so he could be wheeled to the operating room.
Catherine Marshall wrote in her book, A Man Called Peter, about the comfort of the last words she spoke to her husband. She had said to him, "Darling, I'll see you in the morning." She wrote about the thoughts she had a few months later, "And as I stood looking out toward that far horizon, I knew that those words would go singing in my heart down all the years..."
My last words to my dad were, "I love you, Dad. I'll talk to you when you're done." The words have gone "singing in my heart" these past two years. I sometimes have despair about my dad's salvation, but I also have hope that I will indeed talk to him again. And for him, it'll seem but a moment until we speak again.
Three things I am grateful I received from my dad:
1. His love of music
2. His love of the prairie
3. His love of history
(Here's another recent post about him.)
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