Unsettled by Dad

Four years since losing Dad. Last week, he and I walked around my house and talked about the different rooms. He magically pushed through a wall and led me into a room I had never seen before, beautifully furnished with old everything, like from a museum. After a bit, I awoke from the dream.

Whoa, that was powerful. There was a depth to it like I hadn't experienced in a long time. It was good to see him, good to remember that man I valued. Soon after, though, I felt the pain of missing him. The pain outweighed the good feeling in the dream. I was shaken for a couple of days.

Last night, I went to church service. As we made our way through the many songs that kicked off the service, I observed that the African American man directly ahead of me continued to receive hugs and hand grips from those nearby. As is our tradition there, midway into the service, singing continues and folks are invited to slip out of their seats and make their way to the front; some stand, some kneel. While there's nothing magical about the front of the church versus the back or even the inside of the building, it's definitely evidence of something big going on for your heart that you'd leave the comfort and anonymity of your seat, make people shift so you can get out of your aisle, and end up in front with a bunch of other folks. The man ahead of me slipped out to head forward. Two brothers slipped out and hung their hands on his shoulders as they joined him to the front. On his return, he got more hugs. Another guy discretely slipped a handful of tissues into this guy's hand.

I knew that "meet and greet" time was coming in the service when we'd have the chance to say hello to folks around us we don't know. I remember how bizarre and how emotional it was to go to church for the first time after Dad died. No one else feels your particular loss; many of them are just enjoying participating in the joyful-feeling, toe-tapping singing. "This is supposed to be joyful, right?" was part of the storm of thinking on that Sunday long ago. And as we now continued in joyful song, my heart grew heavy from thinking of what this young man was probably going through. What was it like for him to be in the middle of joyous singing? What would "meet and greet" time be like for him?

Meet and greet time arrived and folks rose to their feet to begin the dance of who to connect with first. I dropped my hand on his shoulder from behind, and he rotated around. I used our shaking hands to pull him closer. "People are lovin' on ya like you lost someone," I said with a straight look in his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Who did you lose?" "My father just passed away," he said.

In hindsight, I'm a little embarrassed at my actions--were they more about me in the moment than about where he might be at?--but I was genuine then and emotionally I meant it for him: I pulled this stranger close, hugging him. I told him I was so sorry, that I understood because I'd lost my father. I tried to express my understanding of the significance. He relaxed into the hug and conveyed this was a huge loss for him.

Yeah, there was a beauty in seeing folks rally around this guy, offering loving words, hugs. And I remember now how beautiful it was to me in the weeks and months after losing Dad how love came from so many people, how people I didn't know very well told me of their love for Dad or of how he had touched their lives. I guess I just wanted to be part of that memory for this guy, to be part of the wave of love that he needs right now, even from strangers. Maybe I got it wrong; maybe I was out of place. But I'm thinking the benefit of my love outweighed any oddity in my reaching out. Hoping.

That was it. The service went on, and I met with other folks after the service.

Last week, before I had that dream, I emailed the church and asked if I could help out in any way in their upcoming Grief Share program for those facing losses of all sorts. Interesting that I had these two events since then. They intensified my awareness that there's loss all around us. Loss goes on. We need to share in the journey. Will that guy be in the group? 'twill be interesting to see.