Showing posts with label Letters to my Father-in-law. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters to my Father-in-law. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Letters to my Father-in-law: One Year
Dear Gary,
So here we are, at the end of the year of firsts. I began this letter at the anniversary of our last meeting in this life, and in the time it’s taken me to write this, we’re now on the brink of the first anniversary of your passing. I’d like to think you already know this, but you’ve been so heavy on my heart and mind – especially through the holidays – that I almost feel like I just saw you.
I also like to think that you get to follow along just a bit through our daily lives, and therefore already know events and changes that have taken place, so I’ll not bore you with the usual “what’s been happening lately” paragraphs these letters seem to require.
As the time grows between your passing and our life now, I find that I’m seeing more and more reasons to miss you. Especially during the holidays – it was difficult. It was hard to watch my little girl visit family and friends as I slowly realized that you, her papa, would not be part of these special holidays or future special memories. It was hard to see people who still have the chance to be something important and extraordinary in her life choose to not be. Even in those whom I long ceased to be disappointed, I find new disappointment as my daughter grows and becomes more aware of the grandpas in other little girls lives. This fresh awareness causes me to find renewed value in who you were and what you chose to be. And I find I’m still painfully disappointed that you died.
I gave up, long ago, on finding examples of close, active, godly grandfathers in my own line. But as my daughter grows, and we plan more children, that void has suddenly inspired a new bitterness in my heart. Suddenly I must deal not only with my own lack of a godly father and close grandfathers, but I must deal with the lack of those for my daughter. The heartbreak surprises me.
I find I’m surprised by the continued pain your absence brings. It feels as if I’m grieving my own father, and I suppose in a way I am. From even before Jason and I began dating to our wedding and beyond, I heard countless stories of a strong, steadfast man loving and guiding his children as they grew. Then I was privileged to be a part of those stories as a daughter-in-law. I was happy to be grafted in to such a strong and loving family with a wonderful heritage. And then you were gone.
At times I feel lost and overwhelmed at the thought of carrying that heritage on without the link of you. At times I feel guilty for not recognizing the value of you to the extent that I feel it now. Perhaps that is normal, but I feel it deeply anyway.
You and I both understood, through different circumstances, the importance of a father and godly father figures in our own and our children’s lives. I think right now you would know almost exactly what I’m feeling. I’m certain that at times through your children’s lives you again mourned the loss of your own father, Alvin, in new ways. I know you would point me away from the overwhelming loss I’m feeling and toward the love and blessing of the God we both called Father. I’m certain you would remind me of God's offered reassurance of blessing and hope and restoration of things lost. I know you experienced this first-hand in your own life, and surely you hoped those you left behind would search it out as well. Through all the emails still in my inbox – yes, I’m an e-hoarder – you signed off with phrases like, “I love you all and thank the LORD for His covering us in the storm!!!” and “Can't believe I am so blessed.” And then my very last message from you, “God is good and we are indeed blessed to rest in His care.”
You had cares through your life, but you were faithful to put them into the hands of God – and leave them there – trusting that God’s faithfulness to yourself and your family would be more than enough to see us through.
Though you’re gone, and I deeply miss you – seemingly more and more – I find I can keep those parts of you alive that you worked so hard to infuse in those you loved. I still don’t know how the empty space you left behind can ever be filled, but I do know the same God you knew and loved, and I work hard to trust, like you did, that beyond what circumstances – or even our own history – might be telling us, that God is a good God of faithfulness who blesses us and covers us in the storm and calls us to rest in His care.
Above all, I want to say thank you, Gary, for all you were and all you chose to be. I am grateful to be living in the blessing and the heritage of you and your dear family. And I cannot wait to hug you again.
All my heart,
your daughter-in-law Jessica
So here we are, at the end of the year of firsts. I began this letter at the anniversary of our last meeting in this life, and in the time it’s taken me to write this, we’re now on the brink of the first anniversary of your passing. I’d like to think you already know this, but you’ve been so heavy on my heart and mind – especially through the holidays – that I almost feel like I just saw you.
I also like to think that you get to follow along just a bit through our daily lives, and therefore already know events and changes that have taken place, so I’ll not bore you with the usual “what’s been happening lately” paragraphs these letters seem to require.
As the time grows between your passing and our life now, I find that I’m seeing more and more reasons to miss you. Especially during the holidays – it was difficult. It was hard to watch my little girl visit family and friends as I slowly realized that you, her papa, would not be part of these special holidays or future special memories. It was hard to see people who still have the chance to be something important and extraordinary in her life choose to not be. Even in those whom I long ceased to be disappointed, I find new disappointment as my daughter grows and becomes more aware of the grandpas in other little girls lives. This fresh awareness causes me to find renewed value in who you were and what you chose to be. And I find I’m still painfully disappointed that you died.
I gave up, long ago, on finding examples of close, active, godly grandfathers in my own line. But as my daughter grows, and we plan more children, that void has suddenly inspired a new bitterness in my heart. Suddenly I must deal not only with my own lack of a godly father and close grandfathers, but I must deal with the lack of those for my daughter. The heartbreak surprises me.
I find I’m surprised by the continued pain your absence brings. It feels as if I’m grieving my own father, and I suppose in a way I am. From even before Jason and I began dating to our wedding and beyond, I heard countless stories of a strong, steadfast man loving and guiding his children as they grew. Then I was privileged to be a part of those stories as a daughter-in-law. I was happy to be grafted in to such a strong and loving family with a wonderful heritage. And then you were gone.
At times I feel lost and overwhelmed at the thought of carrying that heritage on without the link of you. At times I feel guilty for not recognizing the value of you to the extent that I feel it now. Perhaps that is normal, but I feel it deeply anyway.
You and I both understood, through different circumstances, the importance of a father and godly father figures in our own and our children’s lives. I think right now you would know almost exactly what I’m feeling. I’m certain that at times through your children’s lives you again mourned the loss of your own father, Alvin, in new ways. I know you would point me away from the overwhelming loss I’m feeling and toward the love and blessing of the God we both called Father. I’m certain you would remind me of God's offered reassurance of blessing and hope and restoration of things lost. I know you experienced this first-hand in your own life, and surely you hoped those you left behind would search it out as well. Through all the emails still in my inbox – yes, I’m an e-hoarder – you signed off with phrases like, “I love you all and thank the LORD for His covering us in the storm!!!” and “Can't believe I am so blessed.” And then my very last message from you, “God is good and we are indeed blessed to rest in His care.”
You had cares through your life, but you were faithful to put them into the hands of God – and leave them there – trusting that God’s faithfulness to yourself and your family would be more than enough to see us through.
Though you’re gone, and I deeply miss you – seemingly more and more – I find I can keep those parts of you alive that you worked so hard to infuse in those you loved. I still don’t know how the empty space you left behind can ever be filled, but I do know the same God you knew and loved, and I work hard to trust, like you did, that beyond what circumstances – or even our own history – might be telling us, that God is a good God of faithfulness who blesses us and covers us in the storm and calls us to rest in His care.
Above all, I want to say thank you, Gary, for all you were and all you chose to be. I am grateful to be living in the blessing and the heritage of you and your dear family. And I cannot wait to hug you again.
All my heart,
your daughter-in-law Jessica
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Letters to my Father-in-law
Dear Gary,
This time of year usually has us scrambling for good ideas for your birthday present. I think you always knew this, on some level, and probably enjoyed it. I'll be honest - you were a hard man to buy for. I think we usually ended up giving you one of three things: a book, a movie (usually war or history), or camping gear. I think we generally did a pretty good job, but it was always hard to say since you weren't a gusher.
Toward the end of your life, and then afterward, I wrote you letters. Sent to you, posted online, and some waited. But you and I had that in common - writing. You encouraged me in it. I know you planned on writing a book once you kicked the cancer. I wish I could have known what you were writing. I wish I could have read it in print.
I'm writing you now as sort of a last present. I suppose, true to our tradition, I am scrambling a bit; it's near 11 pm the night before your birthday (and your granddaughter is faithful to get me up around 6 am these days).
I wish many things had been different. I wish you'd have been healed from the cancer - for the second and last time. I wish we could have spent more time together, somehow. I wish I'd have asked you more questions when we were together. I wish you'd have taken the trail out of Cly lakes instead of having us go off those wretched topo maps, clinging to the sides of shale-covered cliffs. (I know you'll be laughing at that last one, even if my blog readers are scratching their heads a bit.)
I want to tell you how well your family is doing. Not to say there aren't days where the loss of you is overwhelming, but they are steadily moving from surviving toward thriving. When you passed away, I began to look at your family - my family - with different eyes. I still love them the same, but I'm more aware of them now, with you gone. My disappointment in losing you and the pain I feel when I see those who love you hurting makes me want to go above and beyond in reaching out to them, in loving them, caring for them and praying for them. I can now understand why people continue to do things for people they love who have long passed away. It's because my loving those who you love is another way of continuing to love you, though you're no longer with us. And I now understand more of how that works into the Kingdom of God. I want to love God's people because He loves them, and I love Him so dearly. I want to be an extension of His love back to His people. Your life - and your death - is teaching me that. Another thing for which I'll love you forever.
Your son is doing well. He misses you greatly. I am so grateful you and Tricia raised such a fine man and that God brought us together. He's busy planning camping trips through the coming year, and I know you are never far from his thoughts. You left him a good heritage; we are blessed to pass that on. Know that we will pass that on. Siennalee is growing like a wildflower. She talks about you often. She knows you are in heaven with Jesus and remembers you gave her that Jack Russell terrier from Build-a-Bear (oh that she had been more temperate for you that day!). She remembers your face and can pick you out of a line-up (picture). :) One of my biggest blessings is that you are in the presence of those beloved souls who couldn't stay with us: your parents, Uncle Mel, my sweet nephews, and my two babies lost last year. I am comforted that you have two grandchildren to dote on and I am comforted that they have you. Having you in Heaven, in the presence of God makes it all more real for us still here. "Treasures in heaven" has new meaning.
I have not forgotten what you told me in what would be our final conversation. You were so near to seeing the face of God; I've held tightly onto the word you gave me. You had more to say, I remember, but were going to send it on later. I suppose I'll just have to wait to hear what that was; it's something I look forward to.
So this is the first of the "Year of Firsts" of having you gone. Next will be Father's Day. And so on. Life will go on, but you will always be missed. I understand I don't have to wish you a happy birthday; you know nothing but joy where you are now, but it is a happy birthday. I, as your daughter-in-law, married to your wonderful son, mother to your precious granddaughter, am so grateful there was a birth-day for Gary Kantola. It made possible my life today and made my joy complete.
Happy Birthday, Gary.
All my heart,
your daughter-in-law Jessica
This time of year usually has us scrambling for good ideas for your birthday present. I think you always knew this, on some level, and probably enjoyed it. I'll be honest - you were a hard man to buy for. I think we usually ended up giving you one of three things: a book, a movie (usually war or history), or camping gear. I think we generally did a pretty good job, but it was always hard to say since you weren't a gusher.
Toward the end of your life, and then afterward, I wrote you letters. Sent to you, posted online, and some waited. But you and I had that in common - writing. You encouraged me in it. I know you planned on writing a book once you kicked the cancer. I wish I could have known what you were writing. I wish I could have read it in print.
I'm writing you now as sort of a last present. I suppose, true to our tradition, I am scrambling a bit; it's near 11 pm the night before your birthday (and your granddaughter is faithful to get me up around 6 am these days).
I wish many things had been different. I wish you'd have been healed from the cancer - for the second and last time. I wish we could have spent more time together, somehow. I wish I'd have asked you more questions when we were together. I wish you'd have taken the trail out of Cly lakes instead of having us go off those wretched topo maps, clinging to the sides of shale-covered cliffs. (I know you'll be laughing at that last one, even if my blog readers are scratching their heads a bit.)
I want to tell you how well your family is doing. Not to say there aren't days where the loss of you is overwhelming, but they are steadily moving from surviving toward thriving. When you passed away, I began to look at your family - my family - with different eyes. I still love them the same, but I'm more aware of them now, with you gone. My disappointment in losing you and the pain I feel when I see those who love you hurting makes me want to go above and beyond in reaching out to them, in loving them, caring for them and praying for them. I can now understand why people continue to do things for people they love who have long passed away. It's because my loving those who you love is another way of continuing to love you, though you're no longer with us. And I now understand more of how that works into the Kingdom of God. I want to love God's people because He loves them, and I love Him so dearly. I want to be an extension of His love back to His people. Your life - and your death - is teaching me that. Another thing for which I'll love you forever.
Your son is doing well. He misses you greatly. I am so grateful you and Tricia raised such a fine man and that God brought us together. He's busy planning camping trips through the coming year, and I know you are never far from his thoughts. You left him a good heritage; we are blessed to pass that on. Know that we will pass that on. Siennalee is growing like a wildflower. She talks about you often. She knows you are in heaven with Jesus and remembers you gave her that Jack Russell terrier from Build-a-Bear (oh that she had been more temperate for you that day!). She remembers your face and can pick you out of a line-up (picture). :) One of my biggest blessings is that you are in the presence of those beloved souls who couldn't stay with us: your parents, Uncle Mel, my sweet nephews, and my two babies lost last year. I am comforted that you have two grandchildren to dote on and I am comforted that they have you. Having you in Heaven, in the presence of God makes it all more real for us still here. "Treasures in heaven" has new meaning.
I have not forgotten what you told me in what would be our final conversation. You were so near to seeing the face of God; I've held tightly onto the word you gave me. You had more to say, I remember, but were going to send it on later. I suppose I'll just have to wait to hear what that was; it's something I look forward to.
So this is the first of the "Year of Firsts" of having you gone. Next will be Father's Day. And so on. Life will go on, but you will always be missed. I understand I don't have to wish you a happy birthday; you know nothing but joy where you are now, but it is a happy birthday. I, as your daughter-in-law, married to your wonderful son, mother to your precious granddaughter, am so grateful there was a birth-day for Gary Kantola. It made possible my life today and made my joy complete.
Happy Birthday, Gary.
All my heart,
your daughter-in-law Jessica
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