One Year Later - A Tribute to My Dad...

A Tribute to My Dad...

One Year Later...

Even though this is a photography blog in which I normally would discuss the latest shots and shoots from Fizelwink, I want to take a brief break from the norm to discuss something a bit different because I hope and believe that I have words to say that could bless others besides myself and pray that this can help bring something good out of a bad situation.

Many of you who know me, know that last year my father lost his battle with cancer (one year ago today) after nearly two years of fighting. On that day I sent out the following words in an email:

"Hello all…

            I want to thank everyone who has offered such unlimited support, unceasing care and unending prayer over the last few years. The support of so many close to us has been an incredible blessing throughout my father’s illness.

            Life is a funny thing sometimes. This whole experience has furthered my grasp of just how clear some things can become in the face of death and dying. My family and I have had many people telling us how we would react in the face of such loss. Yet whether it was my mother, brothers, grandmother, or even myself I have learned that the process of grief can be different for everybody. I have seen reactions ranging from pleasant laughter to bitter tears, and I have seen that all of these are legitimate and perfectly acceptable ways of venting. Everybody has to travel that road in their own way.

            As for me, I have walked that road and emerged on the other end with a strengthened faith, and true gratitude at having been the son of such a truly great man.

            Today, at 2:20PM in the afternoon, my father Ernest C. Young II died at the age of 63…in peace and at home in the company of my mother and I. He left this world to step into the next with faith in eternity, and love for everyone he left behind. “misericordia dei increbresca” (God’s mercy prevails!)"

Those words seem somehow alien to me now. I remember the surreal feeling of that day, making all the calls to those who were waiting to get them... feeling pleasantly relieved that however horrible the circumstances, at least it was finally over. 

Even as friends and family gathered around and we all toasted my dad, I can remember wondering what the next year without him would be like. How could we possibly recover from this?

Now I look back at this last year and I see all the things that dad has missed, and how much I (along with the rest of my family) have missed him. The pain is still very ripe. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't still think about him. 

Yet even in the face of loss, I am relieved to say that there is now also peace... real peace. Not just for myself. There is revelation as well....

It may seem like a small revelation, but I have come realize that the process of healing from grief isn't entirely what I thought it was. I thought it meant you were getting over grief when the frequency of your boughs with sorrow start to become less frequent. I'm overjoyed to know the truth now though....

You're not getting through your grief when the memory of your loved one STOPS making you cry. You're getting through your grief  when the memory of your loved one STARTS making you smile again :-)

I was sitting with a very dear friend of mine recently at Flying Star and they asked me how I survived a loss so deep. The answer was simply what everyone always says it is: "One day at a time." 

You can't envision life without that person, but eventually the sun rises again on a new day and somehow you're still there to greet it (even if you don't want to be at first). The second day dawns, and then the third followed by the fourth. Until eventually, you wake up one morning to a sunrise that doesn't make you cry because you miss them, but instead makes you smile because you remember them. 

So for those of you out there who aren't sure how to deal with loss, I'm here to promise you that one day, you'll be able to smile again. Maybe not today... but here's to tomorrow!

I miss you so much Dad (and I always will)! 

Still, it makes me SMILE MORE THAN ANYTHING to know how proud you would be to see what Fizelwink has become  this last year! You'd be blown away Dad... you really would be! :)

Finally, for those of you who attended the funeral last year, you might remember that when the three brothers read after the service, a cell phone went off during my reading. After the funeral there were a lot of you (both who attended and who couldn't make it) that asked for a copy of what I had read that day (since the phone rang for so long and so much of it was missed) so I'll cut and paste it below. God bless and thank you all for taking the time to read!

He taught me to ride a bike…

I was just a boy, but I remember the way my little red two-wheeler looked as my dad lifted it out of the trunk of the car in the summertime sun. Foreign…intimidating…. I’d ridden the bike 100 times yet somehow it looked completely different without the comforting sight of training wheels.

The handle bars shook beneath the white-knuckled grip of hands unsure of themselves. Training wheels gone…replaced now by the hands of my father.

“Now just pedal. Go slowly. I’ll run along-side you and make sure you don’t fall.” Slowly, surely, each foot pedals the other forward…one after another. Rubber tires roll through the grassy fields of the Albuquerque Academy with barely enough momentum to stay upright.

I hadn’t thought it was possible, but eventually, after multiple attempts, feet found their footing, tires found their balance, and in the end I rode my little two-wheeler back to the car on my own that day. 

Cliché as it may seem, being taught to ride a bicycle is one of the first memories I recall when thinking about my dad. Perhaps it’s just because it’s just such a rich moment of fatherhood…a shared experience between just the two of us as father and son. Yet in a way, it feels so inadequate for his eulogy. A single story could never do justice to a man who lived his life so richly, so fantastically as my father did.

No matter what happened there was always a reason to smile. Enjoying every second and finding joy in the simple things of life…those were my father’s trademarks. And he never disappointed. Looking back, many people can often recall a time in their childhood when something their parents said, or something their parents did ended up shattering their “rose-colored” childhood impressions of them. Yet I can honestly say that there was never a time like that for me with my father. To me he always appeared the same as I’d always seen him…a man of integrity, principle, and honor that loved his family more than anything else on this earth…and loved every second of life that he got to live.

He taught me how to live life, and it’s just like learning to ride a bike. At first you’re scared, worried that you’ll fall…but someone’s there to hold you up, keep you pedaling…helping you get your balance…until eventually you can stay up on your own while they run alongside you. But they can’t stay with you forever, and sooner or later we all have to ride on alone.

It hurts…but I have found that loving someone means having the courage to one day face such pain with the decision to go on loving the person and not fall back into loving the past.

So I’ll keep on pedaling with a smile, remembering him as he was, and remembering him for who he was…my friend…my hero…my dad….