My comments from the memorial service

For purpose of posterity, and for those of you who weren't able to attend the memorial service, here are the notes I used for my words honoring my dad.

Several months ago, when my son Graham was about 6 weeks old, and my parents were visiting, I walked into Graham’s room in the morning while he was still sleeping. I found my dad standing in his old familiar pajamas with a gleeful and slightly sheepish smile on his face. He was standing at the closet looking through the clothes hanging on the rod. “There are so many!” he said, “They’re so tiny and soon they’ll be too small!”

My dad loved to sneak into Graham’s room at the first sound he made, and I think he secretly hoped I wouldn’t hear Graham stirring over the baby monitor, so that he could pull him out of his crib, and snuggle with him. Later he loved to make him laugh … we have quite a few videos recording the antics my dad would employ to get a big smile / chortle or waving arms in response. I still have a gmail chat on record from a couple of days before he died, where he was checking on the progress Graham was making to the question, “where’s your nose.” We are still working on it with him, and we're hoping he'll soon stop pointing to his mouth.

I loved to watch my dad love my son. And I loved to watch my dad love me. I felt my dad’s love in so many ways. Even as recently as the last time we were in Boise, he would often hold my hand when we were walking together. He would ask me if I wanted to go for a walk or a run, and we’d hustle on down Mountain View … walking more slowly on the return, and he’d take my hand in his big paw and tell me how happy he was to be my dad, that I was doing a good job with Graham, and that we seemed to be in pretty good shape as a little family. I could count on him for an optimistic long-term outlook on current circumstances or the crises we faced as a nation or as the world. It never felt unmanageable when he explained it.

He had an incredible soft, big, full-faced smile, and I thrilled every time I saw it. I’ll miss his hands and that smile. … And his big eyebrows and his forehead and the way crumbs would hover in his mustache, but those are different stories. I’m going to miss my dad at Graham’s birthday party in a couple of weeks, and on Father’s Day; I’m going to miss him singing with my mom on my birthday next year, and I recognize that all the years to come will be incredibly different without him. I’ll miss the way he answers the phone (“Hello, hello!”), and the voicemails he leaves for us. I’ll miss hearing from Pat, “So, your dad called …” and chuckling about what funny things he called to share with us. I will always remember the love he shared with my mom, and still continue to set them up as an example of a longterm passionate relationship.

I ache. I miss all these things now, and I know the list will grow in the next few months. I don’t understand God’s timing or plan. I wanted so much more from my dad, for me and my brother, for my husband, for all of our children, and for my mom. I wanted a life full of memories and experiences and laughter and tears. I don’t understand the plan, but I know there is a plan. I don’t understand the circumstances or the brutality, but I’m working to forgive the situation which took my dad away. The rest of my life, while different and fully changed, will still be full of good things and new memories. While it’s not what I expected, I do know that God’s blessings will prevail, and although it’s hard to conceive now, I know the future will be better than it looks from my current perspective.