Fearless
"Be Fearless. I love you."
These were my last words to my father a year ago. As my siblings and I said our goodbyes for the last time and each filed out of the room, we each took our turn giving our final hug. We were thankful that we got to tell him whatever we wanted to in that time, while simultaneously wishing that we didn't have to, that there was more time.
Fearless. Why would I tell him to be fearless as he left this world? As I held his face in my hands and looked into his eyes for the last time, telling him how I never wondered my worth with him, through my tears, I told him to be fearless. The memory is a painful one for me, but I am so glad to have it.
I know he understood.
Dad's nickname with the Pink Panthers was Fearless. I didn't understand this fully until I attended the Vietnam Helicopter Pilot's Association convention in July. I heard how everyone wanted "Fearless" in their front seat because he was the best. I heard how he was never afraid to do what he needed to do and was often in danger because of it. All I could think was, "MY Dad????"
I had seen fear in Dad's eyes a couple of times during his illness. He lost his breath so dramatically one time after inhaling a piece of rice. His eyes were saucers as he struggled to catch his breath through the coughing fit, and it took a good couple of minutes to calm it down. I felt fear FOR him. The only other time I felt that he might be fearful was when he went into the hospital about a month before he died. He had a high fever and his oxygen numbers were all over the place. He was hallucinating a bit and his fear came on when he couldn't see Mom. She was always able to calm him. What a great love to witness.
He was never scared for long, though, as his great faith taught him to trust in the Lord. I believe that is what carried him through every fearful moment (including and especially the dangerous ones in time of war, not to mention when we all started driving) throughout his lifetime. During his last days, when he had decided to remove the oxygen for good, and taken off his own mask, he was going back to being Fearless. I am sure that at the end of life, the unknown can be pretty intimidating and even scary. Leaving us all behind, especially the love of his life, must have been excruciating. He faced it the only way he ever would have: with the faith that he had shown to be his guide through his years.
At his memorial service, there was a gorgeous spray of flowers sent by the Panthers. On it was a ribbon. On the ribbon was a sentence that fit so perfectly that it made me cry (again).
I miss my dad, all the time, but I believe wholeheartedly that he is breathing deeply surrounded by the glory of Heaven as he hears the words of God. "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
These were my last words to my father a year ago. As my siblings and I said our goodbyes for the last time and each filed out of the room, we each took our turn giving our final hug. We were thankful that we got to tell him whatever we wanted to in that time, while simultaneously wishing that we didn't have to, that there was more time.
Fearless. Why would I tell him to be fearless as he left this world? As I held his face in my hands and looked into his eyes for the last time, telling him how I never wondered my worth with him, through my tears, I told him to be fearless. The memory is a painful one for me, but I am so glad to have it.
I know he understood.
Dad's nickname with the Pink Panthers was Fearless. I didn't understand this fully until I attended the Vietnam Helicopter Pilot's Association convention in July. I heard how everyone wanted "Fearless" in their front seat because he was the best. I heard how he was never afraid to do what he needed to do and was often in danger because of it. All I could think was, "MY Dad????"
I had seen fear in Dad's eyes a couple of times during his illness. He lost his breath so dramatically one time after inhaling a piece of rice. His eyes were saucers as he struggled to catch his breath through the coughing fit, and it took a good couple of minutes to calm it down. I felt fear FOR him. The only other time I felt that he might be fearful was when he went into the hospital about a month before he died. He had a high fever and his oxygen numbers were all over the place. He was hallucinating a bit and his fear came on when he couldn't see Mom. She was always able to calm him. What a great love to witness.
He was never scared for long, though, as his great faith taught him to trust in the Lord. I believe that is what carried him through every fearful moment (including and especially the dangerous ones in time of war, not to mention when we all started driving) throughout his lifetime. During his last days, when he had decided to remove the oxygen for good, and taken off his own mask, he was going back to being Fearless. I am sure that at the end of life, the unknown can be pretty intimidating and even scary. Leaving us all behind, especially the love of his life, must have been excruciating. He faced it the only way he ever would have: with the faith that he had shown to be his guide through his years.
At his memorial service, there was a gorgeous spray of flowers sent by the Panthers. On it was a ribbon. On the ribbon was a sentence that fit so perfectly that it made me cry (again).
"Breathe deep, Fearless."
I miss my dad, all the time, but I believe wholeheartedly that he is breathing deeply surrounded by the glory of Heaven as he hears the words of God. "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
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