EMPTY CHAIR

Over the years I’ve read all different kinds of quotes and things about dad’s being in heaven and what people would give for one more hug, one more visit, one more. . .

I’ve felt the sentiments and thought that would be so hard and I’ve thought yes, for sure and done a little reflecting on my life and thought ya, I’m doing good.

My dad always loved deep doctrine.  He studied the scriptures in depth and talked a lot about the second coming, which would stress me out.  I’ve never felt ready for the second coming.  My dad would sit in his chair and he would ask these deep doctrine questions and I would say, “Dad, if I can’t get to Heaven on basics, I’m not getting to Heaven.”  Then he’d proceed to talk about these deep concepts and I’d tune him out.  Luckily Rick would engage in those conversations so I had an out.

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Then we’d start talking about childhood or past memories and he’d remember things so much differently than I did.  I’d be like dad, really?  Sometimes we’d laugh and then we’d agree to disagree and sometimes we’d both be like well, you’re wrong or you’re wrong - lol.  Never contentious, but just remembered differently.

My dad liked things done a certain way and he liked things done promptly and if he was in the middle of a project or an idea it worked best to jump in and help him right then or there might be some frustration.  He was amazing at getting things done and his ideas always happened, but sometimes I’d be like dad not right now or we’d do what he wanted and then there was stress on the other side of things when we were done helping him.  Couldn’t beat his enthusiasm for life and projects. 

My dad had a very soft voice.  He didn’t like talking loudly.  He wanted everyone to notice when he was ready to do something.  Often when he’d give priesthood blessings you’d have to listen extremely closely or you didn’t hear him.  When it was time for dinner he’d just fold his arms and sit there and wait until we all quieted down for the prayer.  For family home evening with 46 people he would sit on his stool and watch everyone talking and visiting and laughing.  We’d say dad are you ready to start a family home evening and he would say yes, I’m just waiting for everyone to quiet down.  Quite often this would frustrate me.  I’d say dad, just speak up and tell everyone you’re ready and we’ll quiet down for you.  He would say, “I’ll just wait.” 

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"I’d give anything to walk in my parent’s home and see him sitting in his chair at the end of the table or standing by the fireplace and say hi dad."

​We’d play Acquire game almost every week.  This is a game we’ve played since I was a teenager.  He would say things that would give away what others were doing.  He’d do his own funny things that would sometimes frustrate my mom or any of us at any time, but he’d smile and we’d all smile - that was my dad.

Today I read this and it brought tears to my eyes.  Now these sayings about dad being in heaven dig deep at my heart.  It brings such pain and sadness.  There is a hole in my life that I can’t fill.  No matter how much my dad drove me crazy and did things that sometimes would drive me crazy or frustrate me I’d give ANYTHING - I promise ANYTHING, to experience all of these things again and I’d love them.  I’d not take for granted his excitement, depth of doctrine, his quiet demeanor, the things he would say during a game and I’d jump at his requests anytime and not stress about the other things in my life.  I didn’t treasure these things as much as I should have when he was here and honestly, I didn’t think about what if today is the last day very often.  I took these things for granted.  I had so much to learn from him.  

I’d give anything to walk in my parent’s home and see him sitting in his chair at the end of the table or standing by the fireplace and say hi dad.  I’d love to see his smile and hear his laughter again here on Earth.  I’d definitely chat with him a little longer and treasure his childlike excitement about family history and planning his 50th Anniversary.  I promise, cherish your dad.  Cherish your mom.  Cherish your closest relationships.  

The most true statement in this quote is “You’ll never know the heartache until you see his empty chair.”  I walk in my parents home now and see his hat, computer, notes from a talk he gave just a few weeks earlier, his treats in his headboard, the book he was reading and I can’t explain the heartache I feel.  Sometimes I have to remind myself to breath and that I probably won’t die from a broken heart, but it sure feels like it. 

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