Where does the time go?
It was seven years ago today that my Dad died, and I feel as lost today as I did those years ago. It's true what they say,
It doesn't matter what age you are when you lose a parent, inside you're just a little child.
A friend asked me last night what sort of a person my Dad was. I went to try to explain what a kind and wonderful person he had been, but I could feel the tears welling up from my toes and I had to ask to change the subject. If I had been able to speak I would have told this story, as I think it sums him up perfectly.
Dad's proudest achievement was building the church in the local Camillian monastery. Even now, when I want to talk to him I go there rather than to his grave. During the days after his death, Fr. Monks, a priest there, in turn told us this story.
The man who had been responsible for supplying the furniture for the church when it was built, had returned to the monastery just a few weeks previous, in order to do some needed refurbishment. In the course of their conversation he asked Fr. Monks
"And how is that man, the building contractor?"
Fr. Monks had to tell him that Dad was in the final stages of cancer. The man's face fell and he became emotional.
It seems that he had kitted out the church just in time for Christmas. When he went to get paid there was a problem, it being Christmas week and banks were closed, or some such excuse He was in the monastery trying to explain to whoever was in charge that he had to get paid, as that was the money he was depending on to pay his workers in time for Christmas. To no avail.
Dad was there in the background, probably hammering something into place. He overheard the somewhat heated conversation. He went over, took out his personal chequebook and wrote the stranger a cheque for £6000. His reason for doing so?
He didn't want families to be in need at Christmas.
Now the man did pay him back after Christmas when he got paid. But at the time Dad had no way of knowing that he ever would. And do you know what? He probably would never have gone looking for it. He never did. I have no idea how he ever made any money!
When this man heard that Dad was dying, he said
"How come it's always the good people who have to suffer?"
We have asked ourselves that very same question over and over again.
Sorry for the repost, but this is my blog from this time last year. It still captures how I feel.