Tomorrow is the day. It marks four years since I lost one of the most precious people in my life. Days ago, I felt myself digging my heels into the ground, desperately trying to slow the approaching tomorrow. I’d rather not be in that day. Let’s just skip over it.

In the show Gilmore girls, there was an episode about Luke’s dark day. It was the day he mourned the loss of his father. Years ago, it didn’t mean much but I get it now. Sunny or not, there’s a shadow that falls on the day. All the other days of the year come and go, easy or difficult. 364 days you can usually choose to remember vividly or vaguely or completely push it out of mind but on the anniversary of the death you’re forced to face it. The difficult memories unwelcomingly push their way into your mind, flashing images like a projector screen. All you can do is face it.

I remember when I first lost my dad. My thoughts were so raw and painful and completely consumed by the grief. The world had stopped. Nothing would ever be the same. It was as if I was looking at everything through a grief-tinted lens. How could I possibly go on from this place? How can anything ever be okay? How can anything feel normal again? What even is normal? But now, 4 years later, slowly but surely, I see how time has carried me from that grief-stricken place until on the surface it feels like a distance memory…that is, unless I allow it to penetrate deep into my heart and mind. If I go there, it’s as real as the day I was there.

It’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that he’s gone and yet we have been living 1,460 days without him. Gone from here but not forever. Because of the world-wide Covid-19 quarantine, we are not able to be physically together with many dear people in our lives. We are looking forward to the reunion on the day the quarantine is finally lifted. As joyous as it will be, ours is but a fractional glimpse of what it might be in That Day. How much greater a reunion when we gather with the saints, bowing our knees to worship the King of kings in glory!?! What a day that will be! I think of no greater blessing than knowing my dad has already taken his place in the grandest of reunions.

My dad’s death has undoubtedly brought about an incredible change in the lives around him. Certainly not easy and most certainly not painless. The hole in our heart from his absence is still largely felt. It means my mom continues plodding through this life trial after trial without her husband, his grandkids never get to witness his godly example or hear his godly wisdom and dry jokes, nor do they get to sit in the basement while he plays a Gaither Homecoming video or a Christian comedian on his old box tv. It means his sons and grandsons don’t get to work alongside him or learn from him as he worked on some carpentry or outdoor project, nor does our family get to sing hymns with him, one of the things I loved so much; listening as he tucked his chin and tried to hit the really low bass notes. And last, but not least, the testimony and relationship he had with the customers and coworkers and others in his life is now only—but hopefully a significant, lasting—memory.

I miss the relationship. I miss his breath-stealing hugs. I miss his laughter and stories. I miss his help. But I think what I miss most is when I’d throw life’s crazy at him, he’d quietly listen and patiently guide, pointing me to verse after verse of Scriptural advice. I often hear my dad’s voice; the things he used to say, advice he’d give or Scripture he often referred to. When in a difficult season, my dad saw my struggles for what they were, not what I thought they were. I never got the notion he loved less no matter how many times I fell on my face or walked out of fellowship with God. What a godly example of how our Father in heaven loves us despite the sinful and wayward condition in which we are.

In the hospital he shared that he wanted nothing more than to see his kids and wife grow spiritually and, in his death, I see it happening. Growth is never easy. There are always growing pains as God prepares you for the bigger-sized trials. Our current trial seems to be the greatest of trials and until the next one comes. Bigger and more challenging. But they all have one thing in common: each trial would cause us to draw closer to Him. We thought our trust and obedience was tested during the last trial but the growth that resulted means He knows we’re ready to trust Him through the next one.

I would’ve loved to share all the memories of the last four years with him. To him my boys are probably unrecognizable. I would’ve loved to share all the things I’ve learned about God and to rejoice with Him in all the ways God’s used his death for His glory and honor. To let him know one more time how grateful I am for his and my mom’s godly example that’s led me and how their godly influence has impacted my life.

Each year I experience the anniversary of his death differently. Thankfully, the rawness fades as the years pass. Until now, I viewed his death as another notch in my belt of victimization, probably something I unknowingly held against God. Knowing in my head it was for His purpose and glory but my heart still asking why my dad…just another thing to make my life difficult. But today I believe it. Four years ago, I was a self-centered, faith-faltering thirty-four-year-old with a lot to learn who was dependent on her father to spiritually lead her, but today I reflect on the journey of struggle that’s wrought awareness of and responsiveness to my depravity and through God’s grace produced humility as a result. I am certainly a work in progress, but I owe any good in me to my Gracious and Merciful Heavenly Father.