Weep Not, For It Was a Wonderful Life

It was around eight in the morning, I was at the office preparing for the morning brief, just the start of another normal day. The phone rang, it was my mother. I knew something was wrong because she never called me at the office. Her voice was low. Dad was in the hospital for the past week and I knew she was there visiting, like she does every day. They had breakfast, lunch and dinner together, everyday. “Dad’s gone,” is all she could say before breaking into tears. We talked for a bit and I made sure she was okay before hanging up and calling my wife.

The next day, my family gathered in New York for the funeral. It was a closed casket service, my fathers wish. He wanted to be remembered for what he was like before he passed. But, the deceased has to be positively identified prior to the casket being sealed and placed in the ground. My mother asked me to do the identification. After all, I was the eldest son.

As I walked up to the casket, I fought to hold back the tears. I could not break down in front of the family. The last time my father and I were together, about three months earlier, we took a walk and talked about the future. He knew he was dying, his heart would not hold on much longer. It was always his request that I always remain strong through everything for Mom and the family. Strong through the many heart attacks, the surgeries, and even death.

Standing there by the casket, thought after thought ran through my mind. When I was younger and we would go fishing. We were under strict orders on how to behave when on the boat alone. No talking about school or work. Needless to say, it was a very quiet day, but some of the most enjoyable time I ever spent with him.

I remembered the first time I ever saw my father cry. It was the day I graduated college. We went to the same college and even had the same teacher 30 years apart. We shared the same career, even worked for the same company together for a short time. I was truly following in his footsteps. No wonder people would say I was the spitting image of him.

The casket lid was raised and as I looked inside, Dad was at peace. More thoughts ran through my mind, more memories of the past, but I could not cry. Be strong he had asked. I leaned over and kissed him goodbye, knowing that he would be watching over us all.

I walked to my mother and held her. She looked at me and wanted to talk but couldn’t. I knew what she wanted to know. I looked into her eyes and said, “He was smiling.”

A few weeks later Mom was ready to return to Florida. The kids, spouses, and grandchildren traveled with her. We helped clean the house, move his belongings, and start to arrange her affairs. We took some of the kids on his boat for one last ride. They were all crying because they missed their grandfather. When we returned to the dock, my son asked if he could have Dad’s boat hat. As tears began to enter my eyes I heard…“Be strong”…

Several months after his death, at the cemetery for the placing of the headstone, we were once again all gathered. As prayers were said and parting words silently spoken, the stone was uncovered, I heard it again…”be strong for your mother and the family”…

One night a few months ago, my son was sad because he missed his grandfather. He had just found an album that had pictures of the two of them fishing. He asked me what the writing on the headstone was because he couldn’t remember.

“Weep Not, For It Was a Wonderful Life”

I tucked him in and went outside to sit alone and think. For well over a year I had been strong like he requested. But now I knew it was time to begin my mourning.

You’re right Dad; it was a wonderful life. I miss you.


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