A Special Birthday Wish

Today would've been the 65th birthday of my step-father, Roy Ragsdale. Unfortunately, he is no longer with us as he passed away 9 years ago. In fact his passing was almost one year to the day of when our daughter was born. He died July 19, 1997...Kaitlyn was born July 14, 1998.

As I stop to remember him today, there are several emotions I am going through. To say that my childhood was a bit stressful is an understatement. Yes, it's expected that teenage boys and their fathers will clash and butt heads. I was no exception. We really had some knock down drag outs (some literally but very few) and way too many arguments & screaming matches. It seemed to me that he was constantly riding me about things but for those of you who have teenagers or kids coming up on their teenage years, that seems to be a common complaint.

Our home life was kind of stressful because we never knew what kind of mood Dad was going to be in. Was he going to be snarly & surly or amiable for conversation and family time? We never knew for sure, which I think is a small reason why we felt like we had to walk around on eggshells. As far as he and I doing the manly "father-son" things like camping or playing ball or shooting guns or whatever, that was pretty much non-existant. Oh sure, there'd be a few times when we might play a game of catch or something but unfortunately for both of us, we never developed that close relationship I so coveted as a young boy.

There were those times when I saw glimpses of hope, that he really wanted to make that worthwhile connection with me but for one reason or another, we never clicked.

I know that throughout my childhood and early years of being an adult, I heard from my mom how much he loved me and he was really trying to build that bridge into my life, to create that bond. I think he began to see how we'd never had that "father-son" bond and he began trying to make it happen.

We began to have less of those times of strife and dissension and a few more instances of beginning to understand each other. While I'm sure neither one of my parents were too thrilled with me setting out to become a big shot radio DJ, they never criticized me or became critical of that decision. He never stopped giving advice, what parent doesn't, but he really started making those efforts to support me & guide me as I considered my future, my career and getting married.

My entire family absolutely loved Jennifer (they still do) and many of them wondered why I'd waited so long to pop the question when I finally did. But my dad was one of those who kept saying "you need to quit worrying about your career and marry Jennifer. She's an extremely special girl and you both belong together." That was the kind of advice I didn't mind hearing and I finally heeded it in December 1994.

It was probably either mid 1993 or early 1994 when I got the call one afternoon at home that hit me like a ton of bricks. My mom called and said I needed to sit down because she had something urgent to tell me. Knowing that instruction like that usually means something bad, I waited for her to reveal it to me.

"Your dad has cancer and..."

That's all I can remember her telling me. The impact I felt when I heard that news was as if someone had punched me in the stomach. The immediate whirlwind of emotion I felt washed over me like a huge swell at high tide. Everything I'd felt for the past 17+ years hit me at once.

My anger, resentment, hurt, longing, hate, wanting to love, wanting to please, wanting to make proud, an impending loss, feeling alone at that very moment...all of it overwhelmed me and I fell on my bed with great sobs and tears.

I began to cry out of sorrow...a sorrow for the loss of a man who seemed almost impenatrable, with his positions of authority as school superintendent and minister of music at the church, a sorrow for the man who had done what he thought was best in raising me, a sorrow for the loss of time I spent rebelling against him and fighting him on numerous things, a sorrow for a relationship that wouldn't be able to flourish and mature in the years to come, a sorrow for the loss of a man who would never be able to see my children, his grandchildren and their loss not to have him in their lives.

As you could imagine, the next few months began to change the way I saw Dad. He went from being a strong, vibrant, confident man to one who became sick, weak and uncertain. I saw him transform into a frail individual who spent a lot of time covered in blankets in his recliner at home. This was especially the case in his last days.

I regret and mourn for the last time I saw him alive and I hate that this is how I last saw him.

Jennifer and I were married and had gone to visit them there in Tennessee one weekend. We had to leave that Sunday afternoon to get back to Columbia, Missouri so we had done what we could to get out there one more time. We were all fairly sure that his time was nearing an end, from the amount of weight he'd lost to all the treatments he'd gone through to the last few reports from the doctors. I know it must have been so hard for him to come to realize he was human and he was going to pass soon.

Yet, the last time I saw him, we had one last final blowout and it kills me to think about it.

We'd been sitting there at the dinner table after church (he was too sick to even leave the house anymore) and Mom was frantically going back & forth from the kitchen to the table, bringing out food, refilling drinks and such. Dad, probably being in pain and sensing his time was near, began to snap at Mom for absolutely the smallest of things. I don't even remember the specifics but it was something insignificant I'm sure.

At first, I tried to brush it off as "he's sick and he's not feeling well". But the tension began to thicken around the room and the table. Jennifer wasn't accustomed to seeing and feeling such hostility and I saw her try to ignore it by meekly giving me a reassuring smile. I think I may have tried to even diffuse the impending blowup by offering to help out with whatever Dad needed but to no avail.

He continued to snap and bark and the tension began to mount with a splitting pressure. Finally, I had held back long as I could and I exploded.

I don't remember what I said exactly but I knew at that moment, I was a man and was not afraid to stand up for my wife, my mom and myself and would not let anyone, sick or not, degrade us or disrespect us in that manner anymore. I do remember grabbing my plate and silverware up off the table and stormed into the kitchen, slamming them into the sink.

For just a moment, silence and a pressureless vacuum filled the space. It was like my breathing and the words I'd spoken in rage all just hung there in the air, suspended in time. And then, just as soon as it started, everything was over.

Everything but my emotions and once again, realizing how awful things were, from the blowout to the reality that Dad was dying, I began to shake & sob with great heaves as my wife & mother came to comfort me. There was no way to stop the tears or emotions and I just kind of let it all out, releasing the anger and sorrow that had for so long consumed my life. My dad and I came together and wept for what seemed like an hour or so, realizing how we'd been fighting for such asinine reasons all our lives.

At that moment, a true sense of healing began in my life as God began to start giving me brief glimpses into His ever-lasting peace, joy and love. I began to feel the ebb of negativity and anger seep away, replaced by the eternal love & peace that only comes from knowing and recognizing God as Lord & Savior.

As we drove away that afternoon, I'll remember always looking back in my rearview mirror as my dad, standing there in the driveway, frail and weak, raised his arm to wave goodbye to me, only to then bury his head in my mother's shoulder, weeping and crying the same way I was as I drove toward home.

It wasn't too many days later that I got the phone call from Mom, while I was on the air no less, that Dad had finally gone on to be with the Lord. Oddly enough, the song that was playing at the time of the call was Clint Black's "Like The Rain" and anytime I hear that song, I remember that call. The other song that reminds me intensely about my Dad and the relationship we had and yet didn't have is John Michael Montgomery's "I Miss You A Little". As Jennifer and I sat in the audience a few months after Dad died and listened to JMM sing that song live, I began to again softly cry and mourn for the loss of not only a father but also a relationship that I'd never get to see evolve...at least on this side of Heaven.

Well, Dad, if there's even a chance that you're reading this today from that place of peace, I want to tell you that I do love you and miss you immensely. I have seen and gone through some incredible mountains and valleys, all because of the providence and grace of God. You probably were around the throne that day in 2001 when I completely submitted my life to following Christ. You were probably there when the angels began to applaud that another lost sheep had come home and you were probably one of the ones who clapped the loudest.

Even though you aren't here in person to see your grandkids or experience the joy they bring all of us, I know that one day we will all be reunited in Heaven, in that place where neither death nor sorrow roam but only praise and worship for the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. A place where He has promised to wipe every tear from every eye and believe me...

after writing this blog today, I need my eyes wiped.

My heart aches for what we didn't have together here on earth but it waits in anticipation for what awaits all who believe on Him and who will one day be gathered together as one big family.

Dad, thank you for helping to instill within me the seed of knowing Jesus and trusting Him in all things. I miss you tremendously but I thank God for His faithfulness and promises that one day, we'll see each other again.

Happy Birthday, Dad...I love you