When your dad dies.

Dying has been part of conversations with my dad ever since I can remember. He'd make comments like, "Dying is easy. It's living that's hard," and "When I get old I'm going to stop going to the Doctor. I don't want to just be hanging around in bed," and "If I can't be in my garden, just let me die," and the most recent, "A friend told me if I get a good chance to die I should take it." I'd heard these comments a thousand times. I also saw him survive serious illness if not a thousand, definitely several times. When I was very young my father had an ostomy to help him overcome IBC. He contracted the mumps when I was about 8 years old.When I was a teenager he suffered from Bells Palsy. Later, my brother, Pete, donated his kidney to my Dad because his kidneys were failing. Dad had surgery on his lungs after several bouts of pneumonia. Each time he was in trouble I would try and picture life without him, and my heart would break.

During his last years, each visit came with the nagging question, will this be our last time together? This question made each minute together a tender gift. I definitely noticed his decline in health, but each time we thought it was the end, he would rally. My sister said that she saw where the doctor had written on his chart, "Does not die easily."

Last summer I was teaching my son, Gabe, how to garden.Watermelons were his most prolific crop. I was thrilled about this because Dad grew hundreds of watermelons and it felt like a family legacy. In the gardening process I remember thinking, "I need to ask Dad how to know when to harvest the melons." A few days later I got a call that Dad was failing and not communicating at all." I thought of my burning gardening question and began sobbing as I realized I might not have access to my father until the next life. As luck would have it, my Dad rallied again. I casually asked him on the phone through my tears when I should harvest my watermelons. (Yes I know about google, but where is the family heritage in that?)

Because of these frequent recoveries the actual end surprised me. On January 12, 2019, Mom called in the morning to ask us to pray for Dad because he wasn't doing very well. Of course I prayed, but I wondered, "Is this like last time when he wasn't doing very well and then he was?" When I got the message that he had passed I couldn't believe it.

As is my way, when I start to plummet emotionally, I jump into action. It's not always the most effective or efficient action, but action feels better than sadness. And action was good, because there was a lot to be done. There are 10 children in our family and it took contributions from everyone to make everything happen. We made arrangements to travel to Richfield, UT. Mary drove down first and took care of all the funeral details. Nieces created slideshows and table centerpieces. There were airport pickups, driving through snow, housing arrangements, musical preparations and lots of love to distribute.

I got to Richfield a couple of days before the funeral. I was able to learn about a day in the life in the nursing home by staying in the room with Mom a couple of nights. I enjoyed meeting the friends and nurses that my parents loved. It was a treat to listen to the Durfee band entertain with a morning concert. I did not enjoy the way that not enough residents sleep in the night. One gentleman called out for help at 4:00 am. I woke up with a start ready to save him.  I learned that he just likes to wake up early, but the nurses told him they won't let him get ready for the day until 6:00 am. The next door neighbor also wakes up in the night, bored, so just starts chatting. Bless everyone's heart.

Mary was working really hard planning the funeral, I worked a little bit trying to arrange Mom's move, but we managed to have a little play time. We hit the Mexican restaurant at least 3 times and I finally got to drive by the Miller home--bucket list win.

Thursday night the family headed over to Manti to gather, practice singing, and prepare for the next day's activities. I stayed with Mom so I could help her load the car and drive away from her life with Dad. As luck would have it, we woke up to snow. Not this Georgia girl's fave. I couldn't find an ice scraper so begged a plastic putty knife from the kind maintenance man. We'll just call that the first miracle of the day. With Mom in her van and me in my rental car we headed towards Manti. Unfortunately, my cell phone doesn't work very well in remote Utah towns so I had no GPS. I wasn't concerned however, because I was following Mom who had made the trip to Manti many times. Well, that was a lot of pressure for an 82 year old woman who had just lost her husband of 60 years. We missed the exit and found ourselves driving up an unfamiliar canyon. Looking for the second miracle of the day we solicited help from kind strangers who happily pointed us in the right direction. We were thankful but stressed, I'm going to say really stressed. We were an hour late to the viewing. I realized I had one job, and I didn't do it as well as I'd hoped. That being said, we made it.

When we walked into the church my heart filled with joy. Over a hundred of my favorite people in life were there to remember my father. I think that's what heaven feels like, siblings, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, old friends from California, children, even a friend from GA all bringing love.

There was a moment at the viewing when Mom and her children gathered around the casket. It's hard to describe the sacredness of that time. Our eternal family, gathered in one place. We missed my brother, Pete,

but it was a privilege to stand with those cherished people and say goodbye to our Dad who loved, taught, protected and provided for us.

Dad had been planning his funeral for years. I think it was one of his favorite activities. It was not  my mom's favorite activity. He had song requests, speaker requests, so many requests we were looking at an all day affair. We decided to have each child take 5 minutes. The daughters and daughter in law sang "I heard Him Come."

Heidi sang, "Consider the Lilies of the Field," and the Grandchildren sang "A Child's Prayer."

We came in under an hour. Mom said she wants the same program but instead of "Lilies of the Field," "Oh Holy Night." Heidi generously volunteered everyone else for that one.

The graveside dedication was picturesque with the Manti temple in the background and family in the foreground.















 The casket was beautifully crafted by the neighbor, wild flowers were placed on top. Wildflowers were a fitting choice. Dad was not a fan of too much order in the landscape. He didn't like it when "The lawn looks like an extension of the carpet." :)

Watching the handsome and beloved sons and grandsons carry the casket was another tender moment in an already tender day.

Upon returning to the church, the Manti ward provided a delicious luncheon.We used this time to finish the rest of Dad's requests. Melinda, Susie and Mary sang, "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" Dad's favorite performance by his daughters. Mary's girls sang, "I Can't Help Falling in Love with You." This was my parents' romance song. My family sang, "Dooley." It's a bootleg song, but Dad loved it because it came from the Andy Griffith Show. Melinda's family sang "120 Acres." Charlie and Meg sang "To Know, Know, Know You." It was the song playing during Mom and Dad's honeymoon. Charlie also walked on his hands as per Dad's request. Trevor and Jack sang "Dear Theodosia." One of our friends observed, "Millers put the fun in funeral." I'm proud of that.

I actually love funerals. I feel exhausted from the sadness and joy and love and sentiment and fear and faith that swirls in my brain and heart. But I'm so thankful that I had that person, and I like that I ache at their absence. Sorrow at parting tells me that I loved deeply and that is sweet knowledge. There have been many words describing what it's like when a loved one goes home. Those words are true, but that's not all, and I didn't know it until I felt it. It's happiness that the person is safe and home and free from mortal trials. It's regret for the missed opportunities for love that pride or anger or an unforgiving heart might have stolen for a while. It's a pain in my chest that lives there now. It's smiling when I think of him complaining about his big house because if he forgot his comb he had to walk too far. It's gratitude for his desire to love God and family and serve those around him, and it's hope that our family can gather again in a circle someday.