Dad

I’m not a religious person but my dad was.

One of my favorite artists wrote a song called Matthew 25:21, about losing someone he loved to cancer. That song has a verse that has stuck with me since I first heard it:

You were a presence, full of light upon this Earth.
And I am a witness,
to your life and to its worth

I’ve thought a lot about the light that Dad brought to the world since we lost Dad to cancer, one month and a few days ago.

Dad made friends wherever he went. He was quick with a joke. Even at the end, when he was in so much pain, we mostly just joked with each other.

On the last night I spent hanging out with Dad, he was in so much pain that he needed my mom to help him get ready for bed. They walked together, barely able to make it down the hallway. Seconds after they made it into their room, I heard peals of laughter coming up the hallway. Dad was laughing. Mom was laughing. For a few moments, Dad brightened up the room, even when there was very little light left. In unimaginable pain, with tumors on every organ in his body, Dad would make you laugh.

He could also see an image of a complicated machine in his mind, and, from that image, he could recreate the entire machine: gears and engines, tricky welds and all. Late in his life, he became a little more himself, finding a sculptor inside, self-taught from YouTube videos, and working in metals, crafting moving, interactive sculpture from scrap, silverware, and anything else that he could see the life inside of. He created things for the simple joy of creating them, and he would probably be mad at me for calling him an artist.

Before Dad found art, he built the house my siblings and I grew up in with his own hands. He traded horses, rebuilt trucks, and could still run most 20 year olds off the basketball court in his 40s, despite being 5’5” on a good day. When he coached my basketball team in elementary school we didn't win the most games, but we had the most fun, and Dad won the sportsmanship trophy.

Most of all, the light that Dad brought to the world came in the form of the joy and pride that he took in his children. Everything I accomplished in my adult life, no matter how small or simple it seemed, was met with a deep, authentic enthusiasm by Dad. Everything that I did, Dad was proud and would make sure that I knew just how proud.

He extended that same enthusiasm to all of his children. He was deeply, unimaginably proud of all of us. My ex-wife is an actor and a filmmaker. Last year she made a short film with some friends and I shared it with my family. Dad spent hours watching and rewatching her film, sharing it with his friends whenever he could and he would, regularly, completely unprompted, inject into conversation with me how much he loved her film.

Dad was my biggest fan. He was all of our biggest fans. No matter what, he believed in us and the light of his pride shone through. He experienced unimaginable tragedy and pain in his life. But he never lost his joy. He didn't need or want to teach lessons or to pressure me to be more and achieve more. He just wanted me and my siblings to be happy and to find joy in our lives.

Matthew 25:21 reads:

“His lord said unto him: “Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter unto the joy of your lord.”

My dad was the strongest man I’ve ever known.

I miss him every day.