Letters to David II - My Dad Passed Away Yesterday Morning.
- By Ashish Joy
- Published 06/6/2006
Ashish Joy is a 22 years old Malayalee Christian. He is a Theology Major at Portland Bible College in Oregon State, USA. Ashish Joy is a musician, a writer and enjoys computers. Above all, he loves God with devoted passion and desires to see Christians rise up to become world-changers and trend-setters in the ministry and in the marketplace.
My dad passed away yesterday morning. I am in shock.
My in this moment, I seek nothing more than his presence. I loved him dearly. He was my father. He was the man that raised me. He was the person that was there when I was just feeding from my motherís bosom.
I remember his voice now, calling me, endearing me to him. I desire it right now more than ever. His breath brought peace to me, and now I can hold him no more.
He is gone, a memory that will be stymied as days go by. I remember him now David. He was dear to me. He was the reason I am. His eyes were always watching me, making sure of whatever I did. I am at a loss, and the encroaching fear that surrounds has chastised me and left me grasping. I have lost a man who was life to me. I have lost him, and nothing can diminish the pain that grows.
I cry David. I cry not only for myself, for watching my mom is like watching one who has lost all sense of understanding. I have lost a father, but she has lost a husband. I cry for her.
David, how is it that pain can go so deep? How is it that life itself can become a storm of emotions, while all logic and understanding vanish through the mist of ill-fated circumstance? I am lost. I am hopelessly searching on an island called understanding.
Right now the pain has not quelled a bit, but I show a strong face for my mother. She has completely lost all sense of life-direction. My dad was her compass, her bearing. I have to show her that I am willing to stand alongside her. The funeral is coming up in a couple days.
I donít understand how there is nobody there for my mom. My dad was all she had I now see. I must show her that I will be her source of strength in this time of trouble. I remember crying myself to sleep when I was younger one time when my dad left on a trip.
All I do now is cry myself to sleep thinking about how I will never see Him again. He lives on though. His memory is preserved in my heart. I know you serve the God of my parents, and even though I donít know why I ask you this, please do remember me in your prayers. I guess the thought of you praying for me, gives me a sense of peace.
In my previous letter, I talked of how attachment leads to regret. With my dad, the only word I can describe for my attachment to him is eternal. There are elements of my own soul I question as I reflect on the love I had for this man. Though I had no choice in the matter, I regret not the attachment I have.
He was a great man, a courageous man, a good man. I would disappoint if I did not honor him for who he was to me. I honor him now as I watch out for my mother. My devotion to her illustrates my respect for my father. David, I loved my father and I love my mother.
My mother prays more so now than ever. I can see though that her grief itself has no way of escape, and somehow I hope that she finds an escape through some other means. I thought I could hope for the worst, but one never truly expects the worst.
There is always a ray of hope in the mindís eye. I have learned now that the level of the depravity to which I hope never does justice to the given life-changing circumstance. And Iíve also come to the realization that hoping for the worst possible thing all the time is just a bit too depressing for my taste. Maybe I must not hope at all.
My dad loved his religion. He was not the best at following it wholeheartedly, but he sincerely gave it his best. He claimed Godís will in everything he did, but I question his logic. How could God, so great and so masterful a God, orchestrate such circumstance. I am vengeful David. I donít understand my dadís God. I donít understand your God.
My dad loved to quote a verse, ďAll things work together for the good of those who love Him.,Ē yet right now I question the good that happened for my dad. He lost the things that were of value to Him. I cannot serve a God with such an attitude towards life. God doesnít understand me, and I donít understand God. I want to put away all memories of God from my mind. I dislike the idea of serving a God who does not sympathize with the human condition.
So what do I do with myself David? Here I am a student at university studying something I never enjoyed. I somehow find no meaning and purpose in anything I do. The man who was the driving force for what Iím doing is dead. I donít know why I continue the education I do anymore.
I also now ask myself the question of what I was more afraid, stepping out on new ground, or his words of distaste for the life I wanted to live. I donít know anymore David. I donít understand the drive that keeps me going. Iím at a crossroads with myself.
The funeral proceedings are underway in a few days, and right weíre just trying to take things one step at a time. Iím trying the best I can to be of help to my mom, but I am completely overwhelmed.
Iíve somehow got to figure out how to be the man she wants me to be. Itís doesnít help that Iím trying to figure myself out along the way. Death has a way of numbing you to the trivialities of life. Iím definitely figuring that out that now.
One thing I find fascinating with the Christian religion is that you have hope. My mother tells me that she will see her husband again in the afterlife. I must say that hope is powerful potion, and it does have its uses, but hope that rests on blind faith is not hope at all. It is madness. I canít put my mind around such faith. Iím a bit weakened in my resolve, so I am game if you will.
Watching my mother pray lately has been inspiring. She talks as if the God she serves is standing right next to her. The devotion she illustrates I someday wish to have to someone or something. I want to thank you for you continued support. Your words are strength to me.