Thanks Dad

These are remarks about my Dad’s passing that I shared on my 7/11/16 radio show:

A week ago, I was sitting in a hospital holding my father’s hand as he struggled to breathe. I had just rolled into Atlanta from Mississippi and was in shock from all the driving and the sensory overload caused by the hospital. Dad had been admitted earlier in the day and hadn’t opened his eyes, but he knew I was there. And he knew my oldest sister was there, too. She had just gotten back from her vacation. When he heard our voices he’d mumble or squeeze our hands. When my middle sister made it in from out of town, he turned his head slightly toward her voice.

He was glad we were with him.

Dementia had robbed him of much of his memory – the last couple years have been rough on him and our family. But dementia never truly defeated my dad. He still knew his kids. He still loved his wife. Although he struggled with details, the core of who he was still existed.

But we weren’t there because of dementia. His kidneys were shutting down. He had a UTI infection. And he was letting go.

The next day, my sisters and I continued to hold his hand after he had been transferred to hospice

He was transitioning.

The peacefulness of the hospice facility caused him to be more calm. I arrived early Tuesday morning to tell him what a good dad he was. What a difference he had meant to the community. And what an amazing life he had.

My dad died the way he lived – with a purpose. He passed away on his 59^th wedding anniversary and was surrounded by his three children. When he took his last breath, I thought of Victor Hugo’s quote: To love another person is to see the face of God.

It was definitely a God moment.

In typical Ramsey fashion, my sisters and I worked hard to execute all the plans my mother (to her credit) had set up. The funeral home was contacted. So was my parents’ minister. Everything was set. My sisters and I sat together that night and thought of all the good memories we had – and some of the bad ones. My dad never played favorites with us. Yes, he loved us in different ways. But we are very different people.

We are remarkably close. It’s my dad’s gift to us.

Saturday, my sisters and I stood in front of a fairly full church and told everyone what we had learned from our dad. My middle sister spoke first and was elegant and funny. My oldest sister then spoke and hit it out of the park. I batted cleanup and told what lessons I had learned from dad. When my sons were born, I realized I had no experience with kids. I fell back on his example on how to be a father.

From him teaching me to waterski (my father waterboarded before it was popular), I learned resilience. He’d pull the boat up to me after I had fallen and drank about half of the Tennessee River and say, “It’s not how you fall, it’s how you get back up.” After I had cancer surgery, he made me get out of bed and walk the neighborhood. As he walked with me he said, “It’s not how you fall, it’s how you get back up. Make THAT your story.”

He taught me that humor is a healing balm. I learned about giving back to the community. I learned about having a quiet faith. Dad was a pray in the closet kind of guy. He wasn’t flashy. But he tried to be good to others.

We need more like him in this world, not less.

Whenever we’d all go out to eat, Dad would announce “That was the best meal I’ve ever had.” My kids joke about that. Heck, I do to. But as we were sitting together the other night after his funeral, I realized I had had the best meal I had ever had. And it wasn’t the food. It was the company.

Dad loved his family first. That was the meaning of success to Dave Ramsey. He lived for family. And he died with them holding his hand.

He was the most successful man I’ve ever known.

We live in a world of turmoil. The past week has had violence and brutal killings. People are talking past each other, not too each other. Empathy is not a hashtag. Empathy is understanding. Dad taught me empathy.

I sat by his coffin Saturday afternoon as it was about to be lowered into the ground. I saw two motorcycle policemen salute dad as the flag was folded. I saw graves for people of every race, gender and nationality. But they all had one thing in common – they were underground. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

We’re all headed there. While it is fun to get on social media and scream about our differences, we all have the same fate in store for us.

I was blessed to have my dad for 81 years. He was funny, grumpy, wise, kind, loud and giving. He believed in his son and his crazy dreams. He wasn’t perfect – neither am I but he was perfect for me. As his coffin exited the church, the organist played Rocky Top and the crowd sang. Everyone left on an up note – dad, a UT graduate, would have wanted that. That’s who he was in life.

Thanks Dad. I celebrate your life. And I’ll see you again. But until then, I hope I’m half the man you were.