A Promise

Baptism is an introduction, an admittance, an entry into a new existence.  Yet today, on the day of my first son's Baptism, it began with me thinking not of someone beginning a new life, but of someone whose life had ended more than seven years ago.  My father, the namesake of my son, would have loved to have been there today in person for his first grandchild's Baptism, but instead he was there in spirit.  And as we sat there celebrating a new life entering this world, I received a message from a close friend that on this same day her father too had passed.  This is the 3rd of my close friends to lose a father since my father's passing.  It does not get any easier.  It is not something you get better at with experience.  I started to think of all the fathers whom we lost in my circle of friends, and of all the friends who became fathers during those same years. 

These great men shaped our lives-they made us who we are.  It is because of the people they were that made us the people that we are and the reason that we are all friends.  Being a new father, I hope I can be half the man that these men were, the kind of men who would do anything for their kids, for their friends, and for their community.  So now, as my generation is becoming fathers, mothers, uncles, and aunts, it is to men like this and those that are still around to mold us that we will look to for advice, for comfort, for guidance, for love, for support, and for everything in between.  What we can all do best to remember these men that left this world too early, is to remember everything they taught us, all of their life lessons, and pass them on to our children in the next generation. This is so that we become the people whom our kids will look to for every answer to every question that they might ever have.

The pain never fully goes away, but neither does the joy that they brought to our lives.  And on most days, the joy outweighs the pain.  It took months for me to get past rounding the bend to my house, my dad's van parked in the driveway, thinking for a split second that he was home, that he would be there for me when I opened the door, but he wasn't.  He was gone. But even though he was gone, he will never be forgotten.  Even though he was not there in person for me to see his smile, or to give him a hug, he was there, and I could talk to him, and if I would let him, he would respond.  My dad, like all the dads we have lost, will always be there, and you can still look to them for advice, for comfort, for guidance, for love, for support, and for everything in between. 

I can now look into my son's eyes and see around his neck, a cross that was made from my father's wedding band, a gift from my mother on this day, and see tangible evidence that he will be a huge part of my son's life.  But I already knew that.  He is such a huge part of who I am that he, by default, will become such a huge part of who my son becomes.  He will always be there for me and for his grandson, Tommy.

To all the dads out there, thanks again for everything, for molding us, for shaping us, and for being the best dads you could possibly be.  You have made this next generation a better place and we will do everything we can to follow your lead.  We promise.