"Now I Run " - Shannon Noll

Tell me how the circle ends
There's no beginning
Everything that came before
Will come round again
And I look in the mirror
My fathers eyes look back at me

He gave me a road to choose
He gave me freedom
And I pray I'm strong enough
To walk in his shoes
And I hope that I become
Half the man he'd want me to be

Cos I feel you guiding me
Showin me the way when I'm misdirected
I know your not here but I feel connected


Chorus
Cos everything that I am
Comes from a better man
And all that I've said and done
Can't rewrite my history
Right there for all to see
I'm just my father's son
Taught me to walk, now I run
Now I run

Sometimes when I lose myself
In my weakness
I can feel the touch of his
Unmistakable hands
And they're pushing me forward
Back into the circle again

And I hope my son sees in me
The kind of man that he was to me

Chorus

And everything that I am
comes from a better man
And all that I've said and I've done
Can't rewrite my history
Right there for all to see
I'm just my fathers son
Taught me to walk, now I run
I run

Merriment minus one

Last year I blogged about the awkwardness I felt at flying home and being greeted at the airport by a demented father. This year there was none of that. Only Mum waiting at the airport on her own to pick me up. How things change.

The house showed signs of his absence. The usually immaculate lawn was unkempt (although generously cut by a family friend), the garage looked abandoned, even the dog was lonely without his master.

I went to see him in the nursing home. He was slow and shuffling. He looked calm, but not enjoying life. He asked me about work and whether I had a girlfriend. He told me about how he was going and all his medical problems and I reassured him the nurses would look after him. He told me about all the things he wanted to do when he got home, not realising he wouldn't be going home... ever.

I gave him his Christmas present and he stared at it in confusion. "How do I open it?" I showed him how to unwrap a Christmas present, one fo the most basic things in life that even infants manage to master with glee at Christmas. He just sat there confused.

As we walked to the car I could see Mum was quiet and upset. I slung my arm around her and she burst into tears. We just stood there, words would be meaningless at times like these.

When I got home we had Christmas dinner, minus Dad. Although we had my sister's fiancee, it wasn't the same. Dad was the head of the family and we were like the roast turkey (headless). Mum tried to enjoy herself but who could blame her for feeling sad. She couldn't bring herself to watch the Carosl on TV. It would only bring up too many sentimental memories and make her cry.

I went out to the yard and cut some branches off a tree. We always have branches that need cutting, but it was always Dad who did this kinda thing. Usually he and I would spend father-son time together doing yard work, but this time it was just me. I picked up his tools, the ones passed onto him by his father and repaired a bench that he had constructed. As I drilled and hammered in the garage it all seemed so surreal. Memories of Dad talking to me about the deep things of life in that garage came flooding back. It was like I was an observer watching him teaching his son in the way he should go. I wished I could return to those days. To have one last deep conversation with him and thank him and say good bye.

What does it mean to honour your father? Is it about obeying them? Is it about loving them unconditonally as they age as they have loved you as a child? How do you honour your father when all that remains of him are fading memories of the man he used to be?
As we sat around at Christmas my sister asked me another question. Would I walk her down the aisle?

My heart kinda skipped a beat. These were Dad's roles, his moments. Giving permission for marriage and giving away his daughter at her wedding. I can only imagine how many times he watched his daughters as they grew up and looked forward to the day he could walk them one last time. I felt like I was robbing him. But my sister and mother insisted. Dad wouldn't be able to cope with the wedding. It would get him too agitated and he wouldn't be able to come. With sadnes, after much deliberation, I said yes. I can honour my father by stepping into his shoes, fulfilling functions he cannot, and protecting and loving the women in my family.

This is for you Dad... I miss you heaps

Engaging Times

I got a text message from my sister's boyfriend asking to meet up for lunch. It was the first time he'd talked to me without my sister around so I checked with my sister to find out if anything was up.

Turned out that they'd been talking about marriage after 6 months of dating and he wanted to ask my Dad for permission. Given that Dad was in a nursing home and Grandad was a little bit scarier, my sister directed him to ask me as the 'responsible male' in our family to confront.

I called Mum that morning to talk to her. She had never met him, but trusted my judgement. Talk about pressure! I'd met him a few times and he seemed to check out. He seemed to genuinely care for my sister and was a guy who other guys looked up to and respected. He knew how to cook a BBQ and made mean Tacos/Burritos/Enchiladas (being Mexican and all) I'd seen my sister grow up a bit since dating him and knew he would look after her.

So after praying about it, I arrived early at the cafe to have a man-to man chat. I never envisaged I'd have to have this kind of conversation for many years to come. I began to think how terrifying it must be to ask and tired ot think of how to make things as easy as possible for the nervous guy.

He arrvied on time (always a good sign for a protective brother) and we went insdie and tucked into some food. There was the necessary small talk. I asked him about his college studies and he asked me about my work. I gently offered him a way in. "So how's things going with my sister?"

The relief washed across his face as he realised he could get to the point. He cleared his throat and began his spiel. He described their relationship and how much he loved my sister. Hearing the warmth and affection in his voice I knew that this was something serious and something good. He was edging closer and closer to the question. The poor guy... I could palpate the tension and knew what he was about to ask, but I had to let him get to it himself...to pre-empt would strip him of his victory.

"I want to ask for your permission to ask your sister to marry me"

I paused for a second, with admiration for this brave man's dignity and then replied in affirmation. I told him of my respect for his asking and of our family's blessing.

I then sat with him and prayed for them both, for their marriage to be a blessing to each other and to all who they come into contact with. As we rose, he said to me "You know, you're the first person who's ever prayed for the both of us... thankyou..."

2 months later he sat down with us at the family Christmas dinner table and met them all. I remember that after my last sister was born I was so livid that God had denied me a brother. God is not slow in keeping his promises as some understand slowness. In 1 year's time I will have a new brother-in-law and can't wait to welcome him to our family.

Another one...

They were back. Dressed in their shiny burgundy vests and with their cheesy smiles they looked more like caterers than undertakers. I got a tap on the shoulder from a nurse; "Do you have time to come outside for a second?"

I quickly scanned around to see if someone else could attend to this duty but alas there were no other males on and I felt kinda it was a job that a gentleman should step up to.

So I pressed the button on the airlock and walked outside into the cool summer night. The sun had just slipped over the western front and there was an eerie twilight ambeince. The tall lanky guy in the vest cranked open the door and slid out a big body bag zipped up tight.

"What's the story with this one?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer to this morbid question.

"Hung himself 2 days ago... cops only found him today"

I kinda quikcly started mentally picturing how bad it could look so that I wouldn't be too shocked. I'd heard bad stories about how they can look.

The smell from the bag was not particularly pleasant. The stench of death lingers in one's nose for hours. He unceremoniously ripped back the plastic to reveal a pale head staring back at me. They hand't even bothered to close his eyes. His tongue hung out the side of his head, protruding in defeat.

It was a strange scene in the ambulance bay. Me, the caterer and the dead guy. He looked about 40 years old or so. Pale and cold. Lifeless and limp.

I did the obligatory listening for vitals and confirmed what we all knew anyway. He was dead.

I signed the necessary paperwork, washed my hands and went back inside the airlock to the land of the living. Back to patients who still had some chance and who although smelt bad, did not smell of death.

Back...

I needed a break from blogging. Time to just keep life to myself and stew over life internally.
But it's time to finish the blog with a few last posts before putting this baby to rest.

So please enjoy the final few posts....