When My Dad Died

My Dad died earlier this month.

I can’t seem to shake the feeling that my Dad is just too ‘big’ of a person to not be here anymore. The patriarch of our clan, he was big in personality and presence even if he was a short Scotsman. I know anyone with a good relationship, and many with not so great a relationship, with their Dad will experience this same sensation upon loosing Dad. At first I thought this meant it was cliché and I should keep it to myself to avoid over sentiment… but then it occurred to me that sentiment, when a common human truth, shouldn’t be avoided.

This is the way it is supposed to feel. Dad’s are supposed to be bigger then life in the hearts of their children. Dad’s fill a very big piece of the puzzle of each child’s life, one of the interlocking pieces that connects and effects a whole lot of other parts of ones life. So yes, my Dad is just too big a person to not be here anymore.

Dad wanted to go home to Jesus. Five years ago when he would talk like that, just after his cancer diagnosis, it made me so angry… I am a Christ follower too but there was a jealousy there that made me angry, a jealousy that didn’t want to let my Dad go or to trust him even to our Savior. Lately as he shared the same sentiment I understood more that he had ran his race, some would say on hyper-drive or with the n.o.s. injection button held down.  He knew more then I did about how this physical body can become so broken it can be undesirable to remain in… especially when you consider the eternity Jesus promises us with him… No one wants to see their loved ones in pain so with pain in my heart I eventually surrendered my desires to keep Dad, my anger, and instead I made a Spirit empowered choice to trust him in the arms of his capable savior.

How someone so full of life could also be so determined to be okay with leaving this life sometimes seems a total paradox to me.  Other times I realize his eternal perspective meant he wasn’t choosing to leave life, but instead that trusting Jesus about the life here after meant he was choosing MORE life.

The first morning after he had died was maybe the hardest so far for me. I woke up, still hidden under the covers and just cried into my pillow. I could clearly still remember the feel of his soft and very weak hands as I held them gently and said good bye to him the weekend past.  He had insisted, though it clearly hurt him a great deal, that I let him hold me to his chest in a fragile hug… our last hug. I had leaned in and told him he was a good dad to me and that it was okay for him to have peace now and that I love him so much.

I said goodbye, realizing I was loosing, in this life, one of my biggest cheerleaders. This man never limited me, never told me I couldn’t do it and when I couldn’t or wouldn’t do it he wanted to lift me up to a point to be able to… I don’t recall him ever being anything but supportive of me… maybe that is exaggeration but that is how it felt in my grieving. 

Just so you know, I am one of his biggest fans too…and the rest of his fan club, you know who you are… Allan Munro loves you…

“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.” 
~G.K. Chesterton


Lady Mac an Rothaich


One Comment on "When My Dad Died"

  1. Robin Munro says:

    You express yourself well my dear daughter. Your Dad was so, so, so proud of you as a whole beautiful woman, his daughter, a Christian, and wife and mother. As long as we follow Christ, Allan (Dad) will never be disappointed.

Considerate and polite comments are always welcomed.