A MEASURE OF COMMITMENT
On May 11, 2005 my father died. He was, and still is, my one true hero. The story of my dad's life and death is a long one. The following account concerns two events that occured after my dad died. I have written about these events so that I would never forget them.
My younger sister and I had begun making funeral arrangements in late January for both of our parents. Mom and dad were both ill. Both had long since passed their 80th birthdays. Since the previous spring when dad underwent brain surgery for a recurrent meningioma, dad had been struggling with his health. My sister and I did not want to make the decisions concerning mom or dad's funeral and burial at the time when either mom or dad died. We are a close family, and our mom and dad have always been the centerpiece of our lives.
Two days after dad's funeral, my sister and I visited with the funeral director and thanked him for the wonderful service that had been provided for our father. Most of the funeral services had been pre-paid, but there are always expenses which cannot be determined before an individual's death, so my younger sister and I settled the account. During our conversation with the funeral director, we asked for the name of a stone mason who would be available to engrave the covering stone for our dad's mausoleum space. The funeral director recommended a local mason to us, one who had worked for the director on numerous occasions.
Engraving the headstone
My younger sister and I had discussed the engraving of the stone at the time when we purchased the mausoleum spaces, wondering between ourselves how much the engraving would cost and exactly what should be engraved on each of our parents' stones. My younger sister and I had looked at the surrounding stones in the mausoleum and had taken notice of what each memorial stated about the individual interred in that space.
While the funeral director was completing his paperwork, my sister turned her attention to me and asked if I had any ideas about the engraving. It is customary for a cross to be engraved at the top of the stone, then just below the cross the name, birth and death dates of the deceased. Many families also added a statement such as "Beloved husband and father (or mother)" to the stone underneath the name and dates. My younger sister had brought with her a copy of a statement which her husband had found on the internet concerning "goodness". The statement expressed the belief that the goodness a person shares in his life continues and lives on even after the individual dies. We both thought about the statement for a short while, trying to condense a short paragraph into just a few words. The statement was appropriate for my dad, for he was a good and just and fair man.
The mystery of the three special words
After pondering the paragraph about goodness for a few minutes, I asked my sister what she thought about engraving the words "Integrity -- Courage -- Commitment" on dad's stone. My sister liked the directness of those three words and she believed, as I did, that those three words were an accurate description of our father. My sister added that those three words gave her "goosebumps" when I spoke them. For a few precious minutes, those three special words brought our father back to us.
Those three words were a gift to us, at least, that is how I prefer to think about them. How they were given to us or who the giver was, I do not know. It is possible that in my writing of dad's eulogy and then his obituary, dad's personal attributes coalesced in my mind. Perhaps when pressed for a statement that would convey our dad to the world, I had the words at hand. Since I have no gift for the spoken word, and often stumble when I try to express myself orally. it seems more likely to me that the words were a gift to be shared with my sister and to all who would visit our dad's final resting place.
I remember no concious thought of my own being given to voice those words. I prefer to believe that an angel whispered those words in my ear, or that perhaps our long dead grandmother or grandfather had suggested those words to describe and honor their youngest son. It is unlikely that our dad chose those words for himself, for though he embodied those attributes in the way in which he lived his life, our dad was a modest man. At the time that I spoke those three words, I was struggling to make sense of my younger sister's copied statement about goodness. I was thinking only of the problem which my younger sister had presented to me.
Finding a photo frame
I had planned to return to my home on the 21st of May, a Saturday. Dad had been buried on the 16th of May, the previous Monday. I wanted to leave my sister a photo of dad which I had printed out on dad's computer. More than any of my sisters or even myself, my younger sister was suffering with the unsettling facts related to our dad's premature passing, facts which would only fully develop once several months had passed. I had hoped that this gift of the photograph would be a comfort to her. I also hoped that the photograph would bring the father, whom she had loved so much and tried so hard to help, close to her once more.
The photo which I wanted to present to my sister showed our dad wearing a red vest and on his face was his usual welcoming smile. In the photo dad looked healthy and happy, pleased with himself and with the many accomplishments of his life. The photo expressed our dad's usual demeanor, his feelings about the life which he had lived. The photo expressed to the world and to ourselves how we wanted our dad to be remembered, so we had used this particular photograph for dad's obituary.
The dimensions of the enlarged photo which I had printed on the computer was 8x10 inches. I did not have a frame available at mom and dad's house where I was staying while in San Angelo. There were a number of errands for me to do on Friday, the 20th of May, so I stopped at a local craft store to purchase a frame and a mat for the photo of dad in the red vest. I found a gold frame that would make a good presentation and a mat to fit the frame and the photo. I continued to walk around in the frame department. I wanted to be sure that the frame which I had chosen was the best choice of all those that were available.
On the back end of a frame display, I saw two or three shelves of price-reduced frames. Having been taught by my parents to be thrifty and careful with my money, I stopped to look at the sale items. The frames on the sale shelf were smaller than the one I had previously chosen for dad's photo. The smaller frames were black and included a mat, which would be an additional savings when compared to my original choice. There were at least half a dozen of these small black frames. On the mats of three of the small black frames was written the word "commitment". One of the frames was badly damaged and would not be presentable, but the two remaining frames were in perfect condition. The coincidence with the word "commitment", given the choice we had made for our dad's headstone was surprising, perhaps even mysterious. I returned my previous selection of the larger gold frame to the display shelf and purchased the two small black frames with that special word -- "commitment" -- printed on the mats. I decided to frame two photos, one for my sister and one for myself.
Printing and mounting the photo
Even though I could reduce the size of the photo on the computer, I could not use the photo of dad in the red vest. Its alignment was vertical and the smaller black frame and mat required a horizontal or landscape composition. I found another photo of dad on my laptop which had the correct alignment. The photo which I selected to use was a recent one taken of dad reading the Sunday paper in the kitchen of mom and dad's home in San Angelo. On the table in the foreground was a vase of roses from dad's garden, a garden which dad had planted just after he and mom moved to San Angelo. The photo is so much my dad, for it portrays a man always involved in the world, always interested in learning new things. A close examination of the paper dad is reading will show that he is scouring the Sunday ads, looking for some new technical gadget to spur his very active imagination.
I printed the photos of dad reading the paper on the computer and assembled the frame and photo for my younger sister. I presented the gift to my younger sister the night before I left for home. I also gave my sister the larger photo of dad in the red vest which she will frame for herself. My own copy of the photo in the special black frame now hangs above my desk. I look at it often when I am working at the computer. Both my sister and I had committed ourselves fully to the task of caring for mom and dad, making time for their special needs even though our own lives were already full. To me the photo and the special frame are a visible sign of our loving, continuing commitment to our parents.
Reflections
There have been unexplainable events in my life, as I believe there are in every life -- things which happen spontaneously and seem to have no apparent reason or cause. Are these mysterious events evidence of a reality more special, more rich and wonderful than that in which I live? After my dad's death, mysterious, unexplainable coincidences happened to my sister and me, coincidences which put into sharp focus the sorrow and the loss which we had experienced. These mysterious coincidences have fixed forever in my sister's and my memory, the image and the value and the wonder of the man who was and will always be our dad.
In joy and love my dad participated in giving life to my sisters and to me. My dad chose to create and raise a family with the woman he loved so completely. My dad worked diligently to provide food, shelter and clothing for all of us. My dad gave us of his wisdom, his experiences and his ideas about what life is meant to be. My dad is gone now from my eyes. But is my dad really gone? Or is it that my earthbound eyes are not able to see that my dad is standing next to me, loving me as before, my earthbound ears no longer able to hear him speaking his words of love and wisdom to me?
Postscript
In 2007 after having read a book about a group of Navy Seals, I learned that the United States Navy has a code of ethics which each new recruit is taught. Since dad never attended "boot camp" when he enlisted in the Navy during World War II, I cannot know if he was taught this code of ethics. Dad seldom spoke of his war experience, and he never related these words to us. The words which comprise the Navy Code of Ethics are these: Honor -- Courage -- Commitment. According to the dictionary, honor is defined as honesty, fairness, or integrity in one's beliefs and actions. How is it that my sister and I chose the Navy Code of Ethics, a code which we never knew, for dad's final resting place? Could it be that life's many small mysteries continue to be revealed, that the gift which we received was even more special than we thought?
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