The Weight of a Father’s Love

“𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭. 𝓘𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝓷𝓿𝔂, 𝓲𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓸𝓪𝓼𝓽, 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓭. 𝓘𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓻𝓾𝓭𝓮, 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯-𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭, 𝓲𝓽 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝔀𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼. 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱. 𝓘𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓼, 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓼, 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓼, 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼. 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼.” 1 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓼 13:4–8

In the morning, I’d go there with his Tim Horton’s coffee. We’d sit there, not talking a whole lot for the most part, as neither of us really knew what to say. I could feel his love as a physical manifestation. I could feel the weight of it on my shoulders as I sat there by his side. To call the weight that I felt a burden would be wrong, as how can love be a burden? But, it felt like a burden. It felt like a load that I had to carry. It felt like a responsibility I had to bear and a debt that I owed that could never fully be paid back.

My siblings and I were so fortunate to have a father who loved us and tried to do his best for us. Who tried to always put the ones he loved first in his life. So many grow up without a father’s love such as that. Maybe that is why it seems there are so many angry young men out there on the streets. Maybe far too many have grown up without shouldering the burden of their father’s love? What would it be like to grow up without that love encircling you? I don’t know, and I can’t fathom it, and maybe that is why it is hard for me to understand the frustration and simmering anger in some of the men that I see around me.

My father wasn’t a perfect man by any means. He liked to have things his way, he didn’t like to change, and he could be very impatient. But, he knew how to admit when he made a mistake, and over the years I witnessed him apologize to people he had wronged, admit mistakes he made, and openly talk about regrets that he had. Even through his mistakes he taught me, through his missteps he guided me, and the lessons that he learned he passed on to me. He was a man of integrity who guided and shepherded those he loved with all of his heart.

Some mornings I would get to the hospital early and he would be asleep. His breathing would be normal, and I would try to match my breath with his. I would remember going along with him when I was around 6 as he made his calls and visits to members of the church. Silly little things come into my mind as I would watch him. I remembered hiding in the backseat of the LTD as he ran into the store to drop something off, worried that someone was going to kidnap me while he was away. I remembered picking fairy ring mushrooms in Mrs. Day’s yard on my way home from school and giving them to him to fry up for the two of us. I remember being so jealous of my older 3 brothers as they could relate to him in a way that as a young child, I just couldn’t do. I remember so much, as he gave me so many good memories.

Grief is a strange thing. I expected sadness to overwhelm me, and it does on occasion, but it comes in waves, as my thoughts and memories drift through my head. When I arrived in the morning of his last day with us, the nurse told me that he had been asking for me. The childish part of my brain thought, “Oh, maybe he is starting to feel better…” Even though, in my heart I knew this wasn’t so. I gave him his coffee and he tried to raise it up to take a drink, but he didn’t have the strength. Trying to drink it more to reassure me, and complete the mantra, than because he wanted it. I raised it to his lips and gave him a sip. I sat with him a while, got his water, then kissed his head and hurried off to work. Before leaving I told him I loved him, and he told me that he loved me. I backed out walking into the wall. He laughed and I laughed with tears in my eyes.

I never felt like I had to do anything to win Dad’s love. It was always there, hanging in the air, wrapping around me like a blanket. I truly felt the need to please him, but not to win his love, not to abate his anger, and not to reach some lofty goal that he had set for me. I felt the need to please him, as his love was so strong and so palatable, that I wanted to do things for him to try and pay back the debt of love that I owe. So here I sit with a debt of love that can no longer be paid. The burden of his love still sits on my shoulders enveloping me, and all I can do with this burden of love is to pass it on. pEACEoUT thom

“𝓞 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭, 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮, 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼 𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓼𝔂 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮; 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭,𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝔂 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝔂, 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓭𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓪 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽.” — 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓗𝓮𝓷𝓻𝔂 𝓝𝓮𝔀𝓶𝓪𝓷

Pastor Henry Boehm