James L. McTeer, Jr. passed away on July 2, 2020. But for just over 51 years, I was fortunate enough to have him here on earth as my father. The past two weeks have held a great deal of sorrow, but they have also held so many blessings. Blessings of love and support. Blessings of seeing what an impact my father had on so many people. And blessings in the form of lessons, gifts of wisdom which can only be truly learned through experience.

The first lesson was just how amazing it feels to be taken care of during a difficult time in life. Over the years, I’ve participated many times in taking food to families during an illness, or after a surgery, or for gatherings following a funeral. The outpouring of gratitude that I would receive on those occasions never seemed in proportion to what I had done. I would find myself almost wanting to apologize for the plainness of whatever I had prepared or purchased. Chicken casserole, while really tasty, just didn’t seem to rate that sort of effusiveness.

I understand now. It’s not the food they were thanking me for. It was the love. It was the concern. It was the willingness of another person to step into a time of grief and fragility and say, “I’m here with you. I want you to know I care.”

And we were cared for so very well. It was pure grace, unmerited favor.

The second lesson was one that I’ve actually been learning my entire life. Only now, it’s become even more apparent. The fact is that one of the greatest blessings I have ever received in my life, will ever receive in my life, was the parents to whom I was born. I realize that not everyone has a father here on earth who makes it easy to believe in a loving Father in heaven.

But I did.

And then, a lesson, a recalling, of how meaningful even the fewest of words, when rightly spoken, can be. My mom told me about something that was said to her during the receiving of friends, and I have thought about it every day since.

She was speaking to a friend who had come to pay their respects. It’s such a tumultuous time – sadness, love, comfort, all coming in waves; tears catching you unawares just as you were laughing at a fond memory. Mom said she was explaining to her friend what had happened, the hospital visit, how she and my dad had expected that it was just another one of several over the last few years. Describing to her friend, and to herself once again, just how much Dad anticipated leaving the hospital within a few short days.

“He was just sure he’d be going home…” Mom said.

“Well,” her friend gently replied, “he did.”

Yeah, he did. What joy to believe that, to know that with all my heart.

I’ll see you when I get home, Dad.