The journey between here and there

My dad wasn’t a man of many words. It’s amazing how people touch your life the way they do. He was old 84 when he died. I was 24. My mom was 50. My older brother Hans was 53. (That’s another story for another day. )

But I miss his heavy large hand on my shoulder. His thick German accent, his mutterings that he would mumble under his breath, his small, pale sky blue eyes that were always full of concern and love for me. He didn’t play with me much growing up cuz he was so old I guess, but through small and simple things he showed that he loved me. This is the eulogy I gave at his funeral.

I’d like to share with you memories and things that my father has taught me in my 24 years on earth.

He has given me examples and taught me how to be patient (I’m still working on that one), how to love, how to be committed to the church, to have faith in God, to read my scriptures, to care, to read all the books I could get my hands on, to enjoy nature, to stop talking constantly and listen.

When I think of Pa’s passing I think of all the wonderful memories I have of him. Like when I was little, he would walk me the ½ km to the driveway to meet the bus everyday. In the winter time he would plough a trail for me through the snow and carry my bag as I dawdled, made snow angels and ran behind. By the time I got to the highway he’d be there holding the bus, chatting with the bus driver, Archie. And, at the end of the day when I got home from school he was there at the highway always ready to greet me. We would walk back together as I would tell him about my day, what I learned, the fun I had and what I accomplished at school.

He would always have a small piece of candy for me in the pocket of his faded farm shirt. He enjoyed good food and I was able to experience German cooking, which I love. He taught me about hard work and sacrifice. He taught me to love and care for animals. We walked a lot. We would go for long walks around the farm, exploring the woods and looking at wild animal tracks. I always felt so special when he would drive me to town to get the mail. He introduced me to writing by example and encouraged me to write. Write in my journal, write letters, poetry and just always write down my thoughts.

As a teenager, I will always appreciate how much he respected my privacy. He would always knock on my bedroom door. He never barged in and he would ask if it was OK to come into my room before he stepped in. Sometimes he would ask me to do something or at times he would just come and sit on my bed and ask how I was doing. He was always there to listen. At times we would go through his black and white pictures and tell me stories of when he was a boy… like the time when he and his friends hid in a graveyard at night with white sheets on their head. When the nuns would walk by they would jump out and scare them. Then laugh as the nuns ran screaming, scared out of their wits.

Or the time when he and his buddies pushed the outhouse back, so the hole was in front of the door. They would then hide, waiting and watching for some unsuspecting person to use the outhouse at night. Laughter would ensue once someone did try to go to the bathroom, only to fall into the toilet hole.

He had a great sense of humor. When mom and all her Filipino friends would come over they would all be talking in Filipino. Pa and I could not understand nor speak the language. He would just shake his head, mutter “man oh man oh man, it’s like a bunch of chickens in a hen house, Squawk, squawk, squawk.” To which mom would reply, “Oh, be quiet” Then continue talking. Pa would look at me and raise his eyebrows like “well she told me”, then turn and mutter, “oh no, oh no, oh no” Then Pa and I would go off and watch TV or go outside.

As a war veteran I knew WW2 effected him profoundly. He helped me realize that war should not be glorified like it is on TV or the movies. He did not like to talk about the war and in the rare times when he did his eyes would stare off in the distance, his countenance would be saddened and he would be transported to that dark time in his life. He would tell about the time when he met Hitler during uniform inspection. How much he hated him, but he had to join the army in order to survive. He spoke of the countries he went to, the Russian concentration camps that he stayed in starving and fighting for his life. His amazing escape from prison and how he managed to make it over to Canada to start a new life. The war made a deep impact on his life, he had constant nightmares which occurred every night. In his dreams he would be transported back to the war, where he would either be fighting with someone or running away from the Russians. He always told me to be involved in my world and be aware of what is going on. To know who is in government, to vote, to let your voice be heard and not let evil dictate how the country is to be run.

He loved the farm and loved to take care of the animals. His daily routine around the farm would go something like this: Get up 630ish, go feed the animals, come in, have breakfast, take a nap, wake up, go feed the animals, come in, eat lunch, read a bit, take a nap, wake up, go feed the animals, come in, eat dinner, watch the news, read a bit, go to bed for the night. Same thing day after day. He worked very hard for his family and provided the things we needed to survive.

He cared for us. I guess, I never really clued into that until I had moved out of the house. I was coming home for Mother’s Day and I got into an accident in Red Deer. I was still 5 hours away from home. It was Pa that came to pick me up. He asked if I was OK. I was. Then he looked at the car and just shook his head and muttered, “man, oh man, oh man.” But he never gave me any stress about it. Just said he was glad I was not hurt. Mom of course freaked. I heard about it the whole weekend. How damaged the car was, how much it would cost, how irresponsible I was and on and on.

When I was leaving the house ready to go back to Calgary he said, “Joanne….” I cut him off and said rather annoyed, “I know, I know I know, be careful with the car, the car, the car, the car, I will.” Then he said, “No, I want you to be careful with you. I don’t care about the car, I just care that you are all right. I love you.” I guess it was the first time he ever said anything like that out loud. That is what I really needed to hear at that moment in my life. I cried most of the way back to Calgary.

I guess I’ve been preparing for Pa’s death my whole life. He always looked old and I was just sure that he would die soon when I was about 5. I remember asking my mom, “When Pa dies can we move to the city?” When I was little and had to wake him up from his naps, I’d always creep in and hesitate at the door to listen if he was still breathing, cuz I was always sure that he would die in his sleep. I’m glad he never did die then because I learned to appreciate the quiet, the trees, the clean sweet air, fresh vegetables, the breathtaking twinkling night sky and the majestic northern lights.

When mom called me on Thursday and told me he had passed away, I felt a total sense of peace go through myself. He had Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, but he was now free from the disease. I was sad that his body would no longer be with us on earth, but at the same time I was so happy for him and almost joyful because I just imagined him meeting his mother, who had died of diabetes when he was a little boy. Meeting his relatives that had passed away before him and all his brothers and sisters. Can you imagine the reunion. Just the JOY and LOVE he must have felt.

He was a good man. He lived a good life. I also think that although it is sad that he is no longer with us, we should celebrate because he has moved on into the next stage in life and the rest of eternity is ahead of him. I’m sure he’ll stop by on us from time to time. He’ll be there to support us, to comfort us and to listen. Probably, while I am driving, he’ll be telling me to slow down, or watch out. All the while shaking his head and muttering, “Man oh man oh man.”

I love my father and I’m proud of him. I’m proud of his accomplishments in life, I’m proud to be his daughter. He has taught me so much that only now I am beginning to see the depth in which he has taught me. I know that I will see him again. I know he will be waiting for me at the end of the road, ready to walk with me and hear about my day. What I did, what I learned, what I accomplished, and how I enjoyed life.

I love you Pa. I’m thinking of you and I miss you.