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“Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.” (George Eliot)

My dad passed away on December 10, 2025 at the age of ninety-four plus. Although his body had slowed down, his mind remained agile and he was able to chat with people right to the end of his time. A wonderful gift. We held a private family burial and a memorial service a month later that frankly, he would have loved.

Dad was a pastor most of his life, although he carried an impressive list of outside accomplishments including a successful stint as a real estate agent as well as building and renovating houses to supplement his thin pastor’s income. Like many from his generation dad survived various times of extreme hardship, discouragement, and hurt. In his later years he was more open to sharing some of those experiences and I am grateful for that honesty and grace.

Dad was known for his strong leadership, sharp humour, interest in learning, innovative thinking, but what motivated everything was his interest in everyday people and how they related to God. He had a gift for empowering others and awakening their talents for practical purposes. His tool of choice was conversation … words … and his voice rarely rested. I have heard from numerous friends who regularly conversed and swapped stories with him to the end of his life.

I suppose that explains the grief he felt over the past decade as he watched some christians become increasingly narrow, politicized, unloving.¹ He would never gossip about them but he would shake his head in annoyance or disbelief whenever someone’s extremism crept into a conversation.

I refer to him here as ‘my dad’ because I find myself grappling with what I have left in his absence. I miss his probing questions, attentive ear, unique observations; his clarity and honesty. Even in the clamour, my dad lived an objective and fruitful life.

Yet as I sit with it, I better understand why I value words, why I love to chat over coffee, why I preach, why I write. When it comes to the things that matter, I long to be objective and fruitful amid the clamour.

A few years ago, during the last moments of mom’s life, I was able to thank her and express my admiration and love. I was grateful to have a similar time with my dad. They each taught me to love God, care for people, laugh often, embrace my calling.

Their wisdom and goodness are still rippling around me.

 

     ~~~~~~~

¹ My parents didn’t have political affiliation and simply voted for whichever candidate they preferred. Politics was personal and I don’t recall them advocating publicly about policy or legislation. (Wait, there was one exception – dad was not a fan of the current U.S. President and chafed at the thought of evangelicals supporting him.)

Photo by Danist Soh on Unsplash