Today is our 5th Father's Day since we lost Dad. In some ways it seems like yesterday and in other ways it seems like he's been gone for decades. Within a week of his passing, we were in the middle of memorial service plans and discussions. My brother John quickly showed interest in speaking at the service and I immediately told Mom I could not share anything due to my complicated relationship with Dad. Mom responded by saying something about how my perspective gives one of the many facets of him. She encouraged me to think about it. So I did. Below are the thoughts I put together in the midst of shock and intense grief. I ended up sharing this at his memorial service. Five years seems like a fitting time to record this for future decades. I have since gotten a new computer and only have a paper copy of these words and memories. This morning I was visiting with a friend who recently lost her Dad and it hit me that Father's Day doesn't get any easier with the years. The loss remains the same while the bitter pain softens with time. For anyone interested in a lengthy read of great value to me, here is my Dad.
September 15, 2012
Dad was a leader in business, in the Tulsa community and he was the fascinating leader and life force in our family. As his only daughter, I was not always the best follower, but I was one of his biggest fans and we enjoyed a colorful and exciting relationship. Over 4 decades, Mom, John and I repeatedly received the same comment from others that caused us to laugh or roll our eyes: "It must be so fun to have Carl as a husband or father." While he dazzled the world with his humor, magic and charismatic personality, he did not perform for us. He was our audience, cheerleader and he provided the faithful support, which enabled us to reach our goals, overcome challenges and to have abundantly blessed lives. As a child and young adult, I was horribly scared of heights, however, Dad made sure we climbed Mt. Crested Butte together regularly, a climb that includes significant exposure. Year after year, I froze in paranoid fear with Dad often right behind me. He got me up the mountain one rock at a time, as he selected each rock to grab a hold of and he found stable footing for the next step. He literally pushed me to the peak as he called out yards to go and he never doubted my ability to make it. In his mind, fear was an opportunity to push yourself and there was never a goal out of reach. This captures well his support throughout my life! Our family became very familiar with his well-worn magic tricks, spoon hanging skills and endless episodes of blowing paper off of his nose and we always enjoyed a front row seat as he brought joy and bewilderment to new audiences. In just over seventy years, he never met a stranger and he always assumed you were fast friends upon meeting. Even as a 1st grader, he entered the classroom on the first day and began passing out books without directions from the teacher.
As I reflect on Dad's strong and abiding role in my life for 42 years, I am grateful for his example of generosity and his love of adventure. His exceptional work ethic inspires me. Not only did he manage an industrious and successful career, but he did it with a unique, refreshing and healthy perspective. Among the countless memories and experiences with Dad, including ski trips where skiing at fast speeds was mandatory, father/daughter trips, climbing the Butte, hiking to Aspen and Young family trips around the globe, a memory that stands out to me was after the birth of our first child. I got an infection that knocked me out. Dad's care for his first granddaughter and for me was beautiful and unforgettable. He waited on us like a nurse maid and believe it or not, he did it quietly.
Perhaps one of the qualities I admire the most and try to imitate is his ability to endure difficulty and suffering with a positive and determined perspective. One of his famous lines to our family was, "You've got to get beyond this." As we grieve the tremendous loss in our family, we do so knowing he would expect us to carry on his legacy with purpose, faith, humor and with optimism.
Over the past few weeks, John and I have relived countless memories to share with you, but 99% of those stories have been vetoed by our mother. These conversations will have to continue in more private quarters for years to come. Needless to say, Dad was unlike any other. He did not fit into any mold or abide by any cultural or social norm set by this world. He was exceptionally unique, genuine and charming. I think we can all agree that we are better for having known him and that he left his mark on each of us. People were never indifferent to his presence in their lives.
While our family has poured over the guestbook on Caring Bridge finding much comfort with each entry, one post resonated with my impression of Dad. Francisco Romero shared a writing from Theodore Roosevelt which I would like to share with you:
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."
One of my last memories with Dad, just 5 days before his accident, was on our last day in Crested Butte. After two weeks of endless activities related to his passions and interests; including opera events for the music festival, multiple stunning hikes, and Dad's latest pleasure of baking cookies almost daily, he wanted us to see more of the sights and to finish our vacation strong. So, he gave us a list of exciting and beautiful places he would drive us and even named a few more hikes to consider. To his dismay and surprise, our family wanted to sit and watch the Olympics before the 13 hour drive the next day. In Dad's world, relaxing was reserved for naps and bedtime. He was always in the action (possibly making a scene) while capturing another beautiful image on his camera. A day with nothing on the schedule while we were on vacation was a foreign concept to him. He was even known to critique our mother/daughter trips if he felt we were not actively engaged in our surroundings. I remember vividly Dad recounting the Oliphint's puzzling choice to Mom later in the day and as always, after nearly 50 years of marriage, she responded masterfully. While my initial thought about this decision included much regret for missing one last drive/adventure with Dad, he would tell me to get over it.
I find great comfort and rejoice knowing that the amazing grace and abundant mercy of the Lord has allowed Dad to enter a new arena where he will spend an eternity basking in the glory of his surroundings. He will witness beauty and have experiences beyond anything this world has to offer. And we all know Dad expended every ounce of energy living life to the fullest and spreading joy in this world. With eager anticipation, I look forward to joining him some day where there will be a whole new list of things for him to share with us. My next "drive" with Dad (figuratively speaking) will be worth the wait and will be gloriously surrounded by the perfection of the Lord's presence.
