Today is June 1st and I cannot seem to enter this
month without thinking about one thing. Father’s Day. Two years ago this month I met my
dad at Orange Leaf for our annual Father’s Day fro-yo. He was late that day, which was not out of
the ordinary for Mr. “Stallin' ” Gaulin. He was late, but the reason he was late
is what had me concerned. While we were waiting for him, he called me to ask
how to get to Orange Leaf. “Dad, are you feeling okay? Orange Leaf. The same
Orange Leaf we meet at about once a month.” But he was lost. Lost driving
around in Springfield—a town he had lived in for decades. He told me the roads
looked different. When he arrived, he
was not his jovial, quirky, folk-musician self. He was impatient and couldn’t
get comfortable in his chair. He squirmed and huffed. He didn’t even finish his
ice-cream. In 26 years as his daughter, I had never witnessed unfinished
ice-cream. I called my sister later that day to tell her I was worried about
dad.
A month later my sister and I sat next to our dad in the
hospital. We were both in a state of utter shock and confusion. Cancer. Stage
four. Located in the femur, lungs, back-bone and brain (thus the reason for the
confusion). The diagnosis seemed to pool right at the front of my mind; my brain refused to process this news. They gave him a couple of months.
He made it three weeks.
When death gets close and personal, there’s no denying
mortality. The weeks and months that followed were a blur. Time sped up and
slowed down all at the same time. There were no tears, only hours spent staring
into blank space. I wrote a poem. I went for a walk. I tried to call his cell
phone number to see what would happen. No answer. This August will mark two years
and his phone number is still in my cell phone. Grief is a funny thing the way
it comes in waves. I can tell you that missing someone never does go away.
Although my dad is no longer on this earth to celebrate Father’s
Day, June reminds me that I celebrate because of the heavenly Father I belong
to. God is a father to the fatherless-- an ever present comforter in times of
need. I celebrate because losing a parent solidified in my life that God’s
promises are true. Come hell or high water, He is with us. I used to be afraid
of death but I’m no longer afraid. I’ve met it face to face; I've smelled it and stared it right in the ugly eyes. Hello there, death. I don't know how to tell you this, but I have a Savior that conquered you. I know His
promises are real.
