Here at the Triplets, we love sports. But we also understand that life is much more than sports. So now and again, I will write articles having nothing to do with sports (maybe the other guys will to). Today is one of those days.
I love to write. Hopefully, I am good at it as well. I just wish there were more time in the day to spend writing. But with a full-time job as a high school teacher and a part-time job as a sports announcer (www.IndianaSRN.org), it’s difficult. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I’m redeemed, a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a friend. So there’s that. J
My biggest problem with writing is when I’m inspired… Maybe that’s not the best adjective to use, but it refers to the times in the day when my best ideas, thoughts and words come to mind. And that time is just after I lay down to go to sleep. If you know me, you know I love my sleep. It’s a curse, but I love it. And when I’m ready to go to sleep. I’m ready to go to sleep. No milling around, our small talk or anything remotely close to any activity – it’s about sleeping. The one thing I cannot shut off is my mind. My dream state is delayed by my wandering brain. But then thoughts come alive as to things I can write about…but getting out of my comfy spot in my bed is difficult for me. I’m lazy. But last night I couldn’t do that; I had to write some notes down because the subject matter was too important. It was about my Dad.
Long story short, in April of 1996 my Dad passed away at 51 years old. I’ve been thinking about him quite a bit lately as I have been privileged to have some talks with my sons that my Dad had with me as I was a budding teenager. At the same time, since I’ve started and kept my beard, many people who knew my Dad let me know how much I look like him now. Finally, I have been amazed how it’s been almost TWENTY years since he passed. It’s unbelievable.
Last night my thoughts went back to the night of his funeral. It was April 19, 1996. All of us, Mom, my siblings and their spouses, and I, were sitting in the living room just reminiscing about Dad. The pressure of dealing emotionally with the funeral and all the condolences (which we appreciated) were being relived at that point. We didn’t have to act a certain way anymore. Not that anyone knows how to act when someone you love dies or when you console a friend who’s had someone pass. At this point, however, we could be Crull’s again. I know it sounds weird, but we’re a different breed; very open about everything. So we shared… and laughed, and sighed, and cried. It’s all part of the grieving process. Looking back, almost 20 years later, we can see those stages as they happen. But in that moment, everything is so blurry and numb, it’s hard to distinguish.
Numb. That word best described how I felt. My whole life changed, yet nothing had changed. I know that sounds stupid, yet it was my life at the moment. My hero, my rock, my Dad was gone. But the second I came back to Indianapolis from little old Chillicothe, Illinois, nothing changed. I had to convince myself every day that Dad was gone. I had to remind myself that I couldn’t pick up the phone and call him. Talk about messing with your head. It does just that.
I wasn’t that deep into the emotional wrecking ball of my Dad’s death just yet as it was still so fresh and I was back home. But as we sat there that night it started to rain. And then rain some more. And then it stormed. Lightning, thunder, high winds, and it was raining sideways, literally. We looked outside for a few minutes and our first thoughts went to – well, guess we’ll have plenty to clean up from the grave site in the morning. For me though, it was more than just the surface thoughts and emotions of a tough few days. It was cleansing to me. As if the earth was crying with me. It felt as though God was trying to wash away my tears with his own little shower. Had my boys been alive then (and praise the Lord they weren’t) I can just imagine them saying, “God’s crying too Dad”. Hopefully I would have been smart enough back then, and not in hindsight, to have said “Boys, God’s not crying because he’s sad. He’s crying tears of joy because Grandpa Crull gets to be by his side now.”
That’s my solace. And it’s probably why I was thinking about it last night in bed. Brannon, my 6th grader, had a rough day at school and we got to have a good, long talk about being a kid. Our conversation was about fears and hopes and bullies and many different things a kid goes through these days. I remember those exact thought and fears (and bullies) when I was a kid. These moments make parenting a beautiful process because we can take the lessons we learned as kids and mold and shape them into lessons for our kids in a different time. I could almost feel Dad talking through me last night to Brannon. The talk eventually steered itself to that very point – how my Dad handled those situations with me. Then we talked about Grandpa Crull not being able to ever see the boys (on this earth) and I let Brannon know this fact, which I stand by until the day I die – if God came to me today and said I could have 3 months more with Dad here on Earth to talk to and see the boys, I would refuse it. Brannon was incredulous. Why? Because he is where he always wanted to be, in Heaven. Why would I ask him to leave the one place he longed to be more than anywhere for selfish reasons? Especially when I know I’ll live with him there forever someday? I couldn’t do it.
The storm lasted quite a while and we eventually called it an evening and tried to get some sleep. The next morning, we woke up and decided after a while that we needed to go clean up the storms damage at his grave site. We all piled in our cars and drove to the cemetery. At the time, not anymore though because of growth, the cemetery was located next to a corn field (surprising for a Midwest state like Illinois, I know). As we got closer, we could see all the flowers and remnants from other graves sticking to the corn stalks like little kids to their parents when they’re scared. Kind of ironic, no? We weaved our way around the drive within the cemetery and as we parked next to his grave site, our jaws dropped. In stunned silence we got out of the car to notice that, while all the other graves had lost their adornments, absolutely NOTHING had moved from our Dad’s grave. It was as if God was telling us that, even in the storms of our life, much like the one we were living through at that moment, that He would be our calm and our peace. Even though we had lost our earthly father, who claimed and lived out those roles, our Heavenly Father would assume the responsibility from that point on. In our hearts, we knew that as a truth. But to visualize it in plain sight was mind blowing. Certain moments in your life are etched in your memory like sand blasting granite. This is one of those memories.
Honestly, I’m not sure why I am sharing this with you. I just know writing these thoughts and feelings on paper is very therapeutic for me, even twenty years removed from the occasion. I’ll never go through a day without thinking of my Dad. But as time goes on the pain subsides and these words I’ve shared with you are part of the medicine. Thanks for listening.
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