Nathan Singing at His Grandpa's Funeral

Last week I had asked Nathan if he thought he would be up to singing at my Dad's funeral. To my great joy, he said that he would. I requested that he sing a song he's sung before, one of my favorite songs called "The Untitled Hymn," by Chris Rice.

The song was so perfect for the occasion. It was truly amazing to me that he was able to sing at all, standing just five feet away from his grandpa's coffin. There was only one point in the song where his voice got a little emotional and wobbly but that just made me love him all the more.

I don't know when Steve and I have ever been more proud of our son than at that moment when he sang a song that not only honored his grandpa but also ministered to the hearts of his grieving mom and her family.

If you'll look at the screen beyond Nathan, you'll see the beautiful picture of my dad at the beach with the birds. It fit in so well with the "fly to Jesus" part of the song.

(From a technical point of view, I only got the last couple minutes of the song, plus I was a bit wobbly-ish. But it was still a touching and memorable moment.)

Oops

Kathleen just left a comment saying that in today's earlier post I had written, " . . . rotate the cars on his tire."

Yes, I am tired, Kathleen. Thanks for the laugh!

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

I had a laughably lofty goal of getting up this morning, doing some more unpacking, straightening up a little, saying good bye to Nathan and then sitting down to write a lengthy, poignant, humorous, unforgettably fabulous post, complete with wondrous pictures--all before noon.

And how did that plan go?

Ha. That's how the plan went.

After I had crawled out of bed, I stumbled blearily around the house a while and then took Sarah with me to pick up Snowy from the kennel. I was a bit worried about him because it's been a long time since he's been away from all of us for five days. Amazingly, he was calm and happy and hasn't shown any ill feelings toward us for abandoning him to the land of strange people and strange dogs. Good ol' Snowy. He's such good therapy.

Got back home, helped Nathan a little with some last minute laundry, ate breakfast, checked my e-mail and then it was time for the oldest chick to fly from the nest. Again.

As I hugged him, I briefly felt a temporary rush of tears but then it occurred to me that I was just too tired to cry. But I wasn't too tired to know I was going to terribly miss my funny, fun, loving, fabulous oldest child.

The really cool thing about the timing of these past few days is that if Dad had died even one day later, Nathan wouldn't have been able to attend the funeral. He already had to get permission to be late to school and the absolute latest he was allowed to get there was tonight.

It's going to be a tiring day for him, on top of a lot of tiring days. He'll drive ten hours, arrive about 7 pm, move into his dorm room and then start classes tomorrow morning. He's been up at since 5:45 this morning, packing his stuff and working with Steve to rotate the cars on his tire and change the oil. I'm glad he's young!

At any rate, after Nathan left, I took one look at all the tasks surrounding me and got so overwhelmed that I fell back into bed and slept three more hours. I told Steve that I would be an "up and down" person today. A couple hours up, a couple hours in bed . . .

I'm just so very happy to be back at home, sitting in my own personal recliner, with my own personal dog tucked in beside my very own personal person.

I know that when the numbness and fatigue wear off, there will still be layers of grief to work through, but for now I am just thankful for this quiet day at home--a place of peace for a weary heart.

_______________________

Since this was sort of a Nathan Post, I'll close with some Nathan Pictures from our trip.

With my mom.

The morning of the funeral. Steve and Nathan with my sister, Debbie.

Meeting up with some cousins. From left to right: Caleb (Debbie's son), Sarah, Andrew (my brother Tim's son), and Isaac (my sister Ruth's son).

I'm still wondering when my little guy grew up.

The little country church near where dad was buried had a bell. And of course, the Smithettes had to ring it.

The graveside service (With Rev. Randy Mantik, Debbie's husband.)

Nathan was invited to read something at the graveside.

With his Uncle Tim, my oldest brother.

My favorite Nathan Picture of the day.

Eight Days in August

Six different beds.

A possible future-altering pastoral interview.

A Sunday service preached and sung at.

A thousand miles traveled by car.

Four airplanes.

A father's passing.

A funeral.

Weariness beyond description.

Endless details.

An enormous family reunion.

Wonderful messages and calls from our Smithellaneous Family.

Gut wrenching tears.

Side splitting laughter.

A last-minute house showing. Accompanied by frenzied last minute house cleaning.

A daughter's fourteenth birthday. (today)

A son's departure for college. (tomorrow)

Packing. Unpacking. Re-packing.

Laundry. More laundry.

All in eight days.

I think I'll go to bed now.

He's Really Alive Now!

Heartbreaking. Joyful. Sacred. Horrible. Precious.

Those were the kinds of moments we spent together as a family at Dad's bedside yesterday.

It was truly the Lord's hand at work that allowed all six kids and mom to be together in the room when he died. One brother was just about to go out of the hospital for an errand, Debbie had been gone for the hour right before his passing, and another brother had just arrived twenty minutes earlier.

We noticed that Dad's breaths were coming further and further apart and after waking Mom, who was napping in the room, we called the nurse.

She came in with a stethoscope and said there was still a faint heartbeat. A minute or two later, she listened again and said, "He's gone."

I must stay that I've written a lot of words in my life, but there are very few words I can think of that can describe the feelings encompassed in that moment. Seeing Mom in tears, leaning over to kiss her husband of fifty-three years was dear and heart rending, all at the same time.

When Mom had regained her composure a little, she looked at everyone in the room and stated with a joyful, firm conviction, "He's really alive now!"

We wept with each other, hugged each other, and comforted each other--in doing so, we found peace for our own hearts.

Steve, Nathan, and Sarah are flying in today (I'll write about the provision of those flights in another post) and the funeral will be tomorrow.

We'll all fly back home on Sunday and Nathan will leave early Monday morning for the 560 mile drive back to school.

I have many more stories to write from the week (some serious, some funny) but for now, there are dozens of details I must attend to in the next few hours.

I've been so touched by the comments that have been left here and I have been amazed to watch the hit counter climb and climb. It's incredible to think that strangers all over the world care about our family enough to follow my dad's journey home--where he's really alive now!

Free To Fly

Edward George Campbell
May 10, 1936 to August 20, 2009 (9:40 CST)

Surrounded by his loving wife and children
who wept and prayed and let him go.

It's 11:45 pm. I made it here about an hour ago after an excruciationly long day. Dad is still breathing but hasn't spoken in about 24 hours.

The family is settling in around him for the night.

Leaving for the airport in 10 minutes.

Debbie called and dad seems to be showing some of the last stage symptoms.

I so want to get there in time.

Thanks for praying.