The last words you said to my brother were “What day is it?”
You were asking because your fight was over and you knew you were going Home.
It was July 17th.
The last day anyone would see your warm smile, or look into your kind, brown eyes.
It was the last day that Mom would hold your hand and laugh with you over a joke between the two of you.
It was the day for which we’ve been preparing for several years, but that caught us all completely by surprise.
It was the day that I saw more strength in my mother than I knew one woman could have.
It was the day she held up the rest of us as we grieved.
It was the day I held your hand one last time.
It was the day you shed the earthly body that had held you back from what you love for so long.
It was the day we looked through 73 years of your full life, laughing, crying and marveling at the man you were.
Today is July 23rd.
It is the day that everyone who loved you so deeply will celebrate who you were, even while our hearts break.
It’s the last day we’ll look on your sweet face.
It’s the day we will put your earthly body in the ground in the cemetery that has so much meaning, and even more so now.
It’s the day we will cherish each kind word, each sympathetic tear and each memory of the most wonderful man we knew.
It’s the day we’ll remember, for the 1000th time, that you are in Heaven this very minute, and our hearts will strengthen at the thought of it.
It’s the day we will say goodbye, if we’re ready to or not. We’re not. We never will be.
It leaves every piece of my heart asking “Lord, what day is it? What day will you call us Home to be with Dad and the others who went before him?” As much as my heart longs to see my earthly father again, it pales in comparison to the thought of seeing my Heavenly Father. He, after all, is the One who made a way for us to see those we’ve lost and to spend eternity with them–and Him. All because He loves us so. He grieves with us as we grieve, but is in Heaven rejoicing at the arrival of my Dad, His good and faithful servant. When I think of how Jesus must have felt, knowing the fight my Dad fought on this earth, when he walked into Heaven in a perfect body—I can’t help but smile through my tears.
Dad, we all wanted so badly to make you proud of us in this life. It’s my turn to tell you how proud I am of you. You fought well and you were dearly loved. Your life was authentic and touched everyone who had the honor of meeting you. I will miss you fiercely until I ask one more time “Lord, what day is it?” and the answer is “Today.”
But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die—but we are all going to be changed. You hear a blast to end all blasts from a trumpet, and in the time that you look up and blink your eyes—it’s over. On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again. At the same moment and in the same way, we’ll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal. Then the saying will come true:
Death swallowed by triumphant Life! Who got the last word, oh, Death? Oh, Death, who’s afraid of you now?
I Corinthians 15:52-55 (The Message)