That one time when I cried in our Primary class

Today is one year since we held the funeral for my dad. I wasn't going to take note of today, since we set aside last Monday to be sad (the anniversary of my dad's death), but while teaching our Primary class about the resurrection, I became unexpectedly emotional. My initial instinct was to cover up, hold it together, and push forward. But I decided instead to be honest and vulnerable with my little six-year-olds and hope that they responded well. They did, bless their hearts, and as a bonus, I only had one of them consequently share a "My grandma died" story.

I started crying while telling the class about Jesus' friends who took his body and prepared it for burial. It was as I explained to the kids that I was crying because this story is special to me and close to my heart that I realized what today was: A year since we buried my dad. A year since I helped dress his body in preparation. A year since I had reason to know, really and truly know, that death is not the end and I will see my dad again. All because of Christ's resurrection, the very story I was trying to tell them. 

When I made that split-second decision to be vulnerable with my CTR 5 class, I hadn't really understood why my emotions were suddenly at the surface but as I shared with them, it came clear to me. I'm not great at choosing vulnerability over staying at a comfortable distance, but I am so grateful I took that chance today and learned more about myself as a result. And I'm so grateful for the beautiful little souls sitting around me who listened and got very serious when I was crying (instead of joking, getting loud, or trying to distract). As hard as it is to keep them corralled for any amount of time, they really are such great kids. 

I wanted to do something to mark what this time of year means to me and my family, but I don't have any new words to describe it. So instead, I'm posting my talk that I gave at the funeral. It was such a small tribute to a person who influenced me and loved me so much, but I was and am very glad that I can share it.

One of the things I think of first when I think of my dad is his playfulness, especially while growing up. He knew how to play, how to be silly, how to gently tease. Whether it was calling each other silly names like “cheese head” and “green dirt nose” (I was six), chasing him down as he tried to leave for work shouting “Wait, you forgot something – me!”, or having an indoor water fight that my dad initiated, I always knew that I could be playful with him. My cousin Anna remembers a time he was watching all the cousins while the rest of the aunts and uncles were out; when they started to return, he had all the kids lie down and pretend to be asleep and “trick” the rest of the parents. His sense of humor was sometimes subtle, but it was there, and it carried him and us through many times, both good and bad.

Another thing I learned from my dad was the joy of giving and receiving meaningful gifts. He loved to make his kids happy through giving small, thoughtful gifts. Sometimes they came in the form of grocery money (or groceries themselves); sometimes it was a memento of a special time together; often it was unexpected, making the gift even sweeter. A few days before I got married, my dad took me on a daddy-daughter date to get me away from all the stress and planning. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been his first choice to listen to the Young Ambassadors perform at an outdoor concert, but he knew I’d enjoy it and so that’s what we did. It was the perfect escape from that crazy week and an incredible gift to his busy daughter. When my cousin Chrissy got married last year, my mom and Rachel and I bought something off of her registry for the bridal shower (I think we got towels or bath mats?). My dad, however, sent us to the shower with two original works of art that had hung in our home for many years and that were created by Chrissy’s mom, my Aunt Robin. He was always thoughtful, always mindful, always generous in his giving.

One of the most lasting lessons from my dad that I carry with me, often unconsciously, is to be open to what might seem unusual, offbeat, or out of the ordinary. We grew up eating hot dogs and hamburgers, but we also ate tofu and couscous. I learned to play Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin on the piano, but I also learned to play Three Gymnopedies by French composer Erik Satie. My parents went to Europe and visited the famous Christmas shops. They bought home a beautiful glass ornament, not in the shape of a star or angel or tin soldier, but an operatically large mermaid. More than that, my dad encouraged us to seek out and recognize all that is good in other cultures, beliefs, and traditions. Two small examples: for several years we went to the Cathedral of the Madeline in Salt Lake for their annual Christmas concert; my dad studied both the King James Version of the Bible as well as the New International Version. And it wasn’t just being open to these different things and ideas; it was finding beauty and humor, and truly valuing what they had to offer. I love this lesson, and I love that it has (hopefully) made me a more open, understanding person.

I have learned so much from my dad about appreciating art, listening to all kinds of music, and loving the craft of words, but the last thing I want to share is that I have learned from my father’s example that it is okay to struggle, to question, to not have all the answers. There was a time when my dad really fought to understand the whys and why nots of his diagnosis. He did not accept pre-packaged answers and he searched deeply for understanding and peace. Knowing that he was in that place was a little scary and unsettling to me especially while I was not ready to face my own fears and doubts. I struggled with the fact that I was struggling. It scared me, so I tried to ignore it. I had never before questioned God’s plan for me or my family, never before doubted that He heard and answered our prayers, until cancer was introduced into our story and wouldn’t go away in spite of blessings and prayers and fasting. When I was ready to face my struggles, it helped me to know that my dad was ahead of me on that journey and that he had found a path to peace. I have since made progress on my own path to finding peace and love and understanding. Over the last seven years, I have learned that doubt is not our enemy when it pushes faith to be stronger, and I honor the periods of doubting, faltering, and questioning that brought my dad peace and that have brought me peace.

I sang in choirs for many years and I have found so many songs in the last week that have brought me comfort. This is one of those songs:

And let this feeble body fail and let it faint or die,

My soul shall quit this mournful vale and soar to worlds on high.

O what are all my sufferings here if Lord, thou count me meet

With that enraptured host to appear and worship at thy feet?

Give joy or grief, give ease or pain, take life or friends away

But let me find them all again in that eternal day.

And I’ll sing hallelujah and you’ll sing hallelujah

And we’ll all sing hallelujah when we arrive at home.

There is no doubt in my mind that I will sing Hallelujah with my dad and that we will all sing it together one day. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.