My dad died far too soon at the age of sixty four from a melanoma that started behind his retina…..a highly unusual place to get that. It was Dad’s wishes that his casket not be open. He had said that during a random dinner conversation long before he got sick, believing that it was too difficult for the remaining family. In death, he looked far more peaceful than his last weeks and Mom toyed with the idea of keeping it open.
While we sat in disbelief at the events that led us to a funeral home of all places, my brother warned Mom that going against Dad’s wishes wouldn’t lead to any good place. “Nah, Mom, you’d better not. He’ll pay you back with a car that breaks down in the middle of nowhere.” Even in grief his family remained practical with a touch of snark.
From the moment the funeral home director opened the doors to the public it was a constant stream of people who had come to pay their respects. By dinner time the wait was over an hour to talk to Mom. Over that long day she stayed right next to Dad, always remaining gracious and overwhelmed by how many lives he touched.
Someone who worked with Dad introduced himself to me and said, “Your father……. your father was a prince of a man.” The next day was cold and rainy, more like November than mid-September. When we arrived at the funeral home to move Dad to his beloved church this same friend said to Mom, “The angels weep for our Bill.”
Well, my prince of a Dad, that sweet guy from your office was right. The angels did weep that day for they could see how much you were loved. Then they planted the memory of your goodness in the hearts of those you left behind and carried you home.
