Memories of Dad

This time of year is difficult.  Memories of my dad seem to be everywhere partly due to the events occuring around me.  Of course Father's Day was last weekend, which has a different significance for me since my dad died almost seven years ago.  Last weekend was also our local Relay for Life fundraiser for cancer research.  My dad participated in the Relay for Life event each year by releasing homing pigeons as part of the opening ceremonies.  Several times my two daughters helped him with the release.

Two years ago I was asked to give a speech at the Relay for Life opening ceremonies in memory of my dad.  That speech is presented below.  I feel so blessed by the lessons he taught me and the love that he shared.

"I have been asked to share memories of my dad, Bob Farabough, who died from cancer of the esophagus on August 17, 2004.  Tonight I will touch on some personal memories of my dad and share what I learned from his battle with cancer and from his death.

My dad was outnumbered in his own house.  He was the only man in a house with 6 women…five daughters and my mom, Judy.  That fact in itself is a testament to his necessary sense of humor and ever-tested patience.   Although I didn’t truly recognize his sense of humor or his patience until I become an adult.

My dad was our resident expert on many topics….trapping, poultry, horticulture, hunting, and playing practical jokes.  If you needed information on these or many other topics, you could call my dad for the answer.  And I still find myself thinking, “Dad will have the answer to that….I’ll call him.”  And I will forever mourn the loss of his knowledge.

He loved to hunt and in his later years he developed arthritis in his hands and shoulders which made those “easy” shots much more difficult, but he still enjoyed the time spent in the outdoors.  He enjoyed listening to a covey of quail….watching a flock of wild turkeys scurry through the grass, or sitting in a deer stand as the frosty air warmed with the sunrise. 

My dad was openly patriotic and I saw him cry many times when the American flag was displayed or presented.

My dad was a collector and grew up in an era where the philosophy was that everything was valuable and therefore worth saving.  He definitely lived by that philosophy.  He saved every tiny piece if wire and every nail….he saved buckets and boards…cages and crates….twine and tools.  And five years after his death….we are still dealing with his collections!

My dad was kind and caring and befriended people based on “who” they were….not their profession or status in the community or the value of their possessions.  He influenced the lives of thousands of people throughout his lifetime during his Cooperative Extension and 4-H work and I have been blessed to hear from dozens of former 4-H members since my Dad died.  Their stories allowed me to see my dad in a different light….for I knew him as my dad and I could then see him through their eyes.   

My dad loved his family….especially his grandchildren and great-grandchildren….and they changed him over the years.  One of my favorite examples of this involved my two daughters….his only two granddaughters.  My dad was very strict when we were young and I remember him getting upset when my older sister came home from college with her toenails painted pink.  Not bright pink...but a soft light shade of pink.  He said that only "hussies" painted their toenails.  Now fast forward about 25 years and my dad is babysitting my two daughters.  When I arrived to pick them up I was quite surprised to find my daughters sitting on their Pepa's lap...their little fingers spread wide while he painted their fingernails pink.  Not a soft, light shade of pink....but a bright fuschia pink!  Yes....the years definitely changed and softened my dad.

My dad was a storyteller and always had a new story to tell….usually very animated and descriptive.  And he used some of the strangest sayings when he spoke.  Our family always told him he should write a book about his sayings.  Some of his common sayings were:  “Half a bubble off plumb.”  … “One brick short of a load.” … “He was so broke he couldn’t even pay attention.”  But the family favorite was, “What in the cat hair?” which could be used in the same context as “What in the world?”

My dad traditionally prayed at our family gatherings and he always ended the prayer with these words.  “Lord we ask that you be with the less-fortunate, the hungry and the homeless.  And we pray that you see fit to bring peace to the world.”

My dad was like every other person here tonight…he had his shining moments and his failures….he was strong yet weak…..he was courageous yet afraid….he was confident yet insecure….he showed tremendous care for others yet was sometimes self-centered….he was human.

When I started working on this speech, my mom said she wanted me to mention that she missed his feet.  That statement puzzled me at first but she continued on to explain its meaning.  Their bed didn’t have a footboard.  It was just open at the end of the bed.  When my mom came into the bedroom during the night, she would hold her hand out as she walked along the end of the bed.  When she felt his feet, she knew where she was in the room and could make her way safely into bed.  He was her point of reference.  Without him, she must find her way alone in the dark.  I think this story serves as a metaphor with great significance….because my dad was the point of reference for my mom and our family unit.  He was our compass…our grounding point.  When he was here, we knew where we stood in relation to each other….where we fit in the family.  He was the thread that wove through our lives….binding us together.  In his absence, we have each had to look individually for a new point of reference…a new grounding point….a new compass within the family.  My mom has become just that.  She has become that binding thread that weaves delicately, yet resolutely through all our lives holding us up as a family. 

After my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he began the fight that so many of you are familiar with.  He began the typical radiation and chemotherapy treatments and did so with a positive attitude and a brave face for his family and friends.  But I occasionally wonder how and what he was truly feeling.   For my dad refused to discuss his fears and anxieties with his family.  We all just thought that positive thinking, good medical care, and diligent prayer would win out…. We just thought he was ornery and tough enough to beat it.   So we received a huge reality check when he died.  How I wish now I had insisted on those discussions!

 For I was not prepared for his death….and I will never know if he was either….I will never know if he had come to terms with dying.  Our family was thrown, like many families, into that vast spiral of mourning and grief with regrets of things left unsaid, emotions not expressed, and assurances not given.   And I have learned the hard way that grieving is one of the most individual and intimate processes we will ever experience as human beings.  What is healing for one person doesn’t work at all for another….and as a society we are incredibly uncomfortable with grief.  A friend shared her own experience after my dad died….she told me that when her husband died, a friend told her that after a month, nobody  wanted to hear about her grief….she should just keep it to herself and get over it.  When I shared that story at work, my boss looked at me and said, “Beth, I don’t believe that!” and she gave me permission to grieve.  She told me I could grieve, cry, talk, get angry, and reminisce as often and for as long as I needed.  I am very thankful for that haven…a place to mourn when I thought I had to be strong everywhere else.

So this is the part of the message I hope stays with you tonight.  The diagnosis of cancer is an opportunity.  Let me repeat that….The diagnosis of cancer is an opportunity.  It is an opportunity to talk about the tough stuff….the taboo stuff.  It is the time to lay everything on the table….to have the argument….to make amends…..to have the reconciliation.  It is an opportunity to laugh, to cry, to hug each other, to love, to live…….to say yes….or to say no.  But ideally we won’t wait for a diagnosis….we will do all those things now….simply because we can.

We never know what our lives hold for us.  My dad had only six month from diagnosis to death….we may have more time…..or we may have less.  But I have come to realize through grieving my dad, that the best way for us to honor our loved ones is to truly live this life…..with authenticity and with our own unique passion and God-given purpose.  To shape each day with attention, intent, and mindfulness so as those days accumulate into weeks, months, and years they ultimately form the context of the life we want to live….a life that is a truthful representation of who we are …..a life that exemplifies our values and beliefs.    

And right about now….I can hear my Dad saying, “Kid, what in the cat hair are you doing?  I think you have talked long enough!”  Thank you.